and the only solution was to stand and fight
He grabbed a few more sticks, tossing them into the sled to add to the kindling eventualities. Silent, quiet, he listened again; observant of the fact that they had similar pasts – at least, when it came to fallen families. Though perhaps Deimos had been gifted and granted more time, as he’d been a gangly teenager hellbent on following warfronts and glories when his parents had been snatched away – but thereafter had been a malicious bout of what it meant to lose, time and time and time again.
But his years hadn’t blurred together – not when he’d found other portions to bind himself to. Regions, painstakingly carving notches and knives into their wakes, no matter which world he found himself a part of. People eventually too, wearing their way around his armor and walls.
Twelve was a remarkably long time though to be falling apart into listlessness, into nothing, and he glanced over his shoulder, back at the man, an arch to his brow once more. How many of them had become habitually tied to those listless ends? How many of them simply moved forward, day in and day out, with no purpose or goal but to put the motions behind them? His eyes narrowed in speculation, before they wandered back towards the presses and inclines of snow, things hidden and lurking beneath the frozen particles.
With little effort or trouble, he tugged on the sled once Damien tested the weight, muscles content with the arrangement as it maneuvered easily upon the packed surface. “Waited long enough at this point,” he grinned; not solemn, not condemning; solidarity in the way life had shaken and carved. “Protecting things kept me going for a while.” Driven by the need to ensure he didn’t lose something, someone, else in the process. “Then others sneak up on you when you least expect it,” he shrugged; sometimes the guards slipping away and letting multitudes in when safety and sanctuary was a real, tangible thing.
But then there was hunting, and that didn’t require any sentiment at all. Nodding at the indulgence, he placed the sled at the lining of some trees, secure and not a distraction, nor a deterrent, for impending maneuvers and flanking deer. Strides were certain and steady, following Belial’s motions through their bond, pushing his footfalls so they were light, nearly inscrutable from a distance. “When we get there, I can rush them towards you,” if that was a preference – Deimos could become a bout of weapons at any point.
But his years hadn’t blurred together – not when he’d found other portions to bind himself to. Regions, painstakingly carving notches and knives into their wakes, no matter which world he found himself a part of. People eventually too, wearing their way around his armor and walls.
Twelve was a remarkably long time though to be falling apart into listlessness, into nothing, and he glanced over his shoulder, back at the man, an arch to his brow once more. How many of them had become habitually tied to those listless ends? How many of them simply moved forward, day in and day out, with no purpose or goal but to put the motions behind them? His eyes narrowed in speculation, before they wandered back towards the presses and inclines of snow, things hidden and lurking beneath the frozen particles.
With little effort or trouble, he tugged on the sled once Damien tested the weight, muscles content with the arrangement as it maneuvered easily upon the packed surface. “Waited long enough at this point,” he grinned; not solemn, not condemning; solidarity in the way life had shaken and carved. “Protecting things kept me going for a while.” Driven by the need to ensure he didn’t lose something, someone, else in the process. “Then others sneak up on you when you least expect it,” he shrugged; sometimes the guards slipping away and letting multitudes in when safety and sanctuary was a real, tangible thing.
But then there was hunting, and that didn’t require any sentiment at all. Nodding at the indulgence, he placed the sled at the lining of some trees, secure and not a distraction, nor a deterrent, for impending maneuvers and flanking deer. Strides were certain and steady, following Belial’s motions through their bond, pushing his footfalls so they were light, nearly inscrutable from a distance. “When we get there, I can rush them towards you,” if that was a preference – Deimos could become a bout of weapons at any point.
DEIMOS
