DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos snorted, arching his brow; not nearly as optimistic. Yes, he knew there were hordes that would be intrigued or interested, but it had to go beyond the realm of the simple yearning to be heroic. They should be capable and with enough tools, magic, armor, and means under their belts to snag at success, rather than be immediately decimated by what lurked within the horrendous island. “We went before too,” he reminded her, so others would’ve known the possibility was there – wondering if maybe multitudes simply waited because it was easier to do so. He couldn’t say he blamed them – he just was never afforded the luxury or opportunity.
He nodded at the thought of more eyes open for flowers, grateful there were still scores of individuals perusing amidst the undergrowth or springs for signs of petals and blooms. His gaze went directly towards Zuriel again, as she snorted and stomped across the blackened sands, before arching his brow at the indication of Erebos’ size, eventually invoking a light chuckle through his throat. “Agreed. Every week or so it seems he has grown.” He and Evie liked to joke about that trait Deimos had clearly passed on. “And he is far more social than I will ever be.”
Work being busy made him snort again – he wouldn’t be surprised at the influx of activity for therapy’s sakes – not with how the Family had struck at every turn. “I can imagine you will have hordes of new clients before this whole thing is over.”
He nodded at the thought of more eyes open for flowers, grateful there were still scores of individuals perusing amidst the undergrowth or springs for signs of petals and blooms. His gaze went directly towards Zuriel again, as she snorted and stomped across the blackened sands, before arching his brow at the indication of Erebos’ size, eventually invoking a light chuckle through his throat. “Agreed. Every week or so it seems he has grown.” He and Evie liked to joke about that trait Deimos had clearly passed on. “And he is far more social than I will ever be.”
Work being busy made him snort again – he wouldn’t be surprised at the influx of activity for therapy’s sakes – not with how the Family had struck at every turn. “I can imagine you will have hordes of new clients before this whole thing is over.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
