DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He maneuvered along the road as the rest of them did, shoveling, pushing, throwing the snow around until their pathways were looking far better; listening all the while to Rhiannon’s own considerations. He’d rarely been the type to go all in with his own opinions; finding it better to listen than to fully conduct on impulse. It gave way to calculations, machinations, and predilections he may not have factored in – because not everyone thought the same way, nor experienced identical things. While his livelihoods had been paved with suspicion, danger, loss, and war, others could give way to much more beneficial occupations.
So he arched his brow, waiting for the fellow hybrid’s input. Amused by her point, then the inquiry, he nodded along. “Those are my thoughts. It will take some time, like most of them do.” It’d be another thing if they had that amount of allotted moments and opportunities. “But worth the efforts. Citadel first, then the Tundra.”
So he arched his brow, waiting for the fellow hybrid’s input. Amused by her point, then the inquiry, he nodded along. “Those are my thoughts. It will take some time, like most of them do.” It’d be another thing if they had that amount of allotted moments and opportunities. “But worth the efforts. Citadel first, then the Tundra.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
