DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He nodded in accord, still watching Zuriel leap and cavort along the threatening swell of waves and the blackened harbor; snorting much the same. “Mm. In Deepfrost.” As for her age credentials, he could only arch a brow in return – at that point in his life, he’d already lost so many things and people and livelihoods, and hadn’t been pulled to this world yet. “Because it is not,” and he rolled his eyes in a cheeky, amused endeavor. “Though Caido likely makes us all feel that way in some capacity.” Because these were not easy lives that they led – for even those who managed to escape and evade the ongoing battles likely couldn’t avoid or elude the travesties and aftermaths that bellowed and followed. There was always something. “The gods still consider us infants,” he shrugged in reply.
Her clients coming outside of Halo didn’t surprise him; their citizens tended to be a more closed-off, deal-with-it sort of bravado. Or perhaps that was just him, and he was projecting. “Nothing wrong with traveling,” and seeing the world – though in his case, he’d argue he’d like to spend time in the region he reigned. And if not as many were keen to come to Halo, he didn’t much care either; a natural protection built into the ice and rime.
Her clients coming outside of Halo didn’t surprise him; their citizens tended to be a more closed-off, deal-with-it sort of bravado. Or perhaps that was just him, and he was projecting. “Nothing wrong with traveling,” and seeing the world – though in his case, he’d argue he’d like to spend time in the region he reigned. And if not as many were keen to come to Halo, he didn’t much care either; a natural protection built into the ice and rime.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
