DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The inspection rounds went well; no loosened bits of structure. No rocks falling back into the springs. No sudden swells of water wandering into rivulets. With a long sigh of reassurance, the Sword nodded, content with the work accomplished. “Good. This is a relief,” and he permitted one round of laughter, before taking a survey of everything else around them.
In their efficiency, there was still portions of rock debris or pebbles strewn about paths, and the snow that had receded into multiple trailways for occupants to consider. “We can clean up now, and then head back.” And then everything would be done, and future revelers could be mended in a variety of ways.
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Round 8 (the last!) – Clean up the area!
In their efficiency, there was still portions of rock debris or pebbles strewn about paths, and the snow that had receded into multiple trailways for occupants to consider. “We can clean up now, and then head back.” And then everything would be done, and future revelers could be mended in a variety of ways.
--
Round 8 (the last!) – Clean up the area!
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
