DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The kids watched as Mrs. Knotwise and Noah expertly peeled away at the vegetables, before taking their own turns with washing and chopping, as much as their little hands could do safely. The finesse of the plop as they all went into the boiling water was much appreciated, and before long their eyes darted back to the Forsaken and cook, as if to say what next?. Mrs. Knotwise instigated another turn instead. ”We should get some bread, don’t you think?, glancing pointedly at Noah, while the children began to chant “Bread! Bread!” at the top of their lungs. ”Quick too,” she added, pointing in the direction of the snoring Mrs. Took across the hall. ”Wouldn’t want to wake her.”
Meanwhile, Deimos andSah organized and maneuvered, until a lift of one bed solidified in a resounding crack. The Sword had the wherewithal to restraint the sudden bout of irritation and annoyance flickering to his face, though his expression went into a reluctant nonchalance, as if the expectation had been there all along. “All right, I will fix this,” and his eyes went towards more linens, then back to Sah. “You can prepare more of the medical beds.”
--
Noah has been bullied into grabbing bread from somewhere.
Deimos is repairing one of the medical beds, and Sah can continue preparing the infirmary portion of the wing.
No post order!
Meanwhile, Deimos and
--
Noah has been bullied into grabbing bread from somewhere.
Deimos is repairing one of the medical beds, and Sah can continue preparing the infirmary portion of the wing.
No post order!
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
