DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Evie followed, and he could feel the discomfort slinking away for something else; fatigue, a boneless wake in the midst of all this grief and trauma and the beckoning unknown, the grasping need for some matter of peace and repose. But she sought the loam first, melding and molding herself to the greenery, and he could only glance over, behold her there for an instant, before gazing upwards at the vastness around them. Walls to their back, armaments overhead, branches collecting and extending, a small and modest shelter hidden and tucked away – and the vastness of the tundra blistering outwards.
He heaved a very long and low sigh, as if a figment was breaking down within or it was simply the act of it giving in, until he was tucked against her side, arm reaching out to ensure safety and closeness and things he could outline in their tangibility. As a means of distraction, even as his eyelids threatened to close, and perhaps to be obnoxious, his breath flickered across, billowing against the crimson crown of her head. “We still need to decide if we want to trade, train the soldiers more, or continue with rebuilding.”
He heaved a very long and low sigh, as if a figment was breaking down within or it was simply the act of it giving in, until he was tucked against her side, arm reaching out to ensure safety and closeness and things he could outline in their tangibility. As a means of distraction, even as his eyelids threatened to close, and perhaps to be obnoxious, his breath flickered across, billowing against the crimson crown of her head. “We still need to decide if we want to trade, train the soldiers more, or continue with rebuilding.”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
