DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
For once, Deimos didn’t feel that aimless trepidation anchored to his ribs. The apprehension was there, to be certain, but armed with some information on how to strike back, the ominous depths didn’t chisel too deeply into his shoulders. Any remaining dread segmented into the potential for Family members randomly appearing, but maybe they were safer along the threads of King’s End, and had learned from previous lessons.
So he flew over and landed eventually along the thermals and the Dreaming Well, shifting back into human form with his bag of holding over his shoulders, rather than staying clutched in talons. He gave a light wave to both Remi and Ronin and a small smile, but otherwise kept himself occupied by snagging at papers, his notebook, and charcoal; avoiding the snacks for now. “I do have some new things to share,” he hinted at both demigods with half a grin; as if to say he wasn’t entirely empty-handed and here for show.
So he flew over and landed eventually along the thermals and the Dreaming Well, shifting back into human form with his bag of holding over his shoulders, rather than staying clutched in talons. He gave a light wave to both Remi and Ronin and a small smile, but otherwise kept himself occupied by snagging at papers, his notebook, and charcoal; avoiding the snacks for now. “I do have some new things to share,” he hinted at both demigods with half a grin; as if to say he wasn’t entirely empty-handed and here for show.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
