DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Forbearing, persistent, tenacious, and resolute, he simply waited. He could picture Maea remaining in her boldness, as she had all those years ago, ready and willing to embark into some newfound trial or circumstance, lunging, leaping, but this Ancient appeared more altered and changed than he’d given her credit for. His piercing gaze didn’t break away from her movements, nor the daggers, before she dropped them into the dunes, and she yielded. Strangling and muffling a snort in his throat, he did the same, flickering the waves back to where they’d come from, permitting them to recede as much as they were able in the ensuing, distant void.
“No more cold,” he promised with a nod. Anticipating some other semblance of a reaction, the wrinkled brow and the disgust wasn’t a far cry from the loreseeker he’d barely known all those years ago. Not intending to leave her without some portion of credit to the sharp movements and ideas, his head tilted vaguely. “We are often striving for that. But you had some good ideas and strategies.” They just hadn’t worked on him – not with his elemental prowess. “I presume becoming an Ancient has given you other abilities.”
“No more cold,” he promised with a nod. Anticipating some other semblance of a reaction, the wrinkled brow and the disgust wasn’t a far cry from the loreseeker he’d barely known all those years ago. Not intending to leave her without some portion of credit to the sharp movements and ideas, his head tilted vaguely. “We are often striving for that. But you had some good ideas and strategies.” They just hadn’t worked on him – not with his elemental prowess. “I presume becoming an Ancient has given you other abilities.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
