DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
“Mm,” he rumbled thereafter, half on a quiet laugh so as not to disturb any of the other dwellers in the house, but amidst the sheer absurdity of the situation too. If it had only taken one slip of a thorn into Dahlia, then the notions that they could’ve ended things so much sooner grappled in the back of his mind – even if it scarcely mattered. Maybe they’d spend seasons and years and decades trying to surmise the precarious balance – going from being threatened and hunted, to fighting back, to constant defiance, and then nothing – the aftermath an uncertain, unsteady glow they were all too shaken to touch.
Not that that stopped him from reaching out to her – head purposefully coming to rest in the crook of her neck while she struggled and grappled with the same notions. She’d be someone he thought a firm believer in hope, in the confidence of trying despite the darknesses, the thresholds, the absolute treacherous decrees and degrees. He was no Grounder though – too pointed, too experienced in worlds of battle to always wonder what else lingered around the corner. Nor would he be able to forget. “Of course not. There is something to be learned from it.” And hopefully not repeated, whenever they found the glaring lesson.
Purposefully blowing a portion of air to move her crimson tresses by mere teasing gestures alone, he sighed, weighed the quandaries and circumstances in his head. “Feels different from the previous war.” Maybe because they’d been fighting amongst themselves then, rather than a common enemy exploiting everything they could. They’d been altered since then too – but the same missions always in mind.
Not that that stopped him from reaching out to her – head purposefully coming to rest in the crook of her neck while she struggled and grappled with the same notions. She’d be someone he thought a firm believer in hope, in the confidence of trying despite the darknesses, the thresholds, the absolute treacherous decrees and degrees. He was no Grounder though – too pointed, too experienced in worlds of battle to always wonder what else lingered around the corner. Nor would he be able to forget. “Of course not. There is something to be learned from it.” And hopefully not repeated, whenever they found the glaring lesson.
Purposefully blowing a portion of air to move her crimson tresses by mere teasing gestures alone, he sighed, weighed the quandaries and circumstances in his head. “Feels different from the previous war.” Maybe because they’d been fighting amongst themselves then, rather than a common enemy exploiting everything they could. They’d been altered since then too – but the same missions always in mind.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
