[Training] nature offers a violence

Deimos

before bones, before dirt, before even light
this is who we were

The Sword knew resentment; it held a cold, acerbic touch down in the chilling denizens of his veins. Not an infrequent thing, with the taste of bitter, acrid spite, judgment and parallels of rancor, for all the disdainful moments cast about his frame in multitudes of lifetimes. He just wasn’t certain he held any for Aurelia any longer; time twisted and spurned in the same platitudes, and in between the haughty voids of those who’d thought themselves the better, the measured, the piercing, the defiant, he had so many other thoughts, machinations, and deviations to occupy himself. Maybe his discernment and conclusions lingered more on those who defied with idiocy and callousness now instead. He’d changed too, in the wake of wars and sovereignty and family; strength in foundations, trepidation in the thought of losing them all over again.

Perhaps he wouldn’t understand the sentiments held towards her until she stood before him once more anyway. The weight of grief and the methods undertaken to reckon with it was rarely endowed with sagacity.

So instead of clenching his jaw and waiting out the minutes, he’d stared upon the Temple and took in its majesty; snorting a little at the ostentatiousness, then figuring most of the Old Gods revered it simply for that alone. But he’d bowed his head, offered his sentiments and prayers to Safrin, then strode out of large, encompassing doors, still imposing as the crowd mingled around. Parting ways from some gawking eyes, he took several strides further down the length of the overwhelming building, before taking out his journals, intending to go through guild notes while he waited.

this untamable expanse
churning proof that we have always been deep, restless souls