DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos rarely had days off; which could be due to a combination of his multiple occupations, disposition, or flaws. But he’d already joined in multiple patrols, took to instructing several spars amongst the barracks, and deftly avoided the stack of letters waiting for him on his desk. With Erebos in tow, strapped on his back this time as he’d outgrown the sling, he made his way towards the outline of Citadel walls, intending to use this opportunity to inspect the weapons lined upon the borders.
Deft and well-used to walking across the broad stone, with Erebos giggling all the while and swinging his limbs everywhere, he made his trek with sure-footed strides, only occasionally crouching to ensure armaments hadn’t been frozen, stuck, or jammed due to ice or snow. One crossbow had become just that, and so he snagged at it, noticing another further ahead, though down along the ground. “Rhiannon,” he rumbled by way of greeting, glancing her way with a nod, before twisting portions of the wooden framework to see where the issue was. His son glanced over his shoulder and waved one mitten covered hand.
Deft and well-used to walking across the broad stone, with Erebos giggling all the while and swinging his limbs everywhere, he made his trek with sure-footed strides, only occasionally crouching to ensure armaments hadn’t been frozen, stuck, or jammed due to ice or snow. One crossbow had become just that, and so he snagged at it, noticing another further ahead, though down along the ground. “Rhiannon,” he rumbled by way of greeting, glancing her way with a nod, before twisting portions of the wooden framework to see where the issue was. His son glanced over his shoulder and waved one mitten covered hand.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
