DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He couldn’t help but snort at the reaction to his voice – snagging at the treats in his pocket, pondering if that would ease the irritation. Holding them outward, flat in his palm, his gaze went from the cub and back to Sah, listening all the while. Belial watched attentively from beyond the Sword’s shoulder, perhaps eager to merely snag the bits and pieces of jerky for himself.
Deimos’ brows knitted together in their residual, furrowed state, slightly baffled at the occurrence. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been – everyone’s companions’ tales were different – including his own. He’d simply never heard of the canines hastening towards trees. He certainly never did in his hellhound state. “Is that a common wolf trait?”
Deimos’ brows knitted together in their residual, furrowed state, slightly baffled at the occurrence. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been – everyone’s companions’ tales were different – including his own. He’d simply never heard of the canines hastening towards trees. He certainly never did in his hellhound state. “Is that a common wolf trait?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
