DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
The grin was enough to inform Deimos he’d done something well; and for the present he played the instructor role once more, tilting his head, studying the way Erebos altered and commanded the magic. It didn’t seem natural or straightforward to him yet, requiring vast amounts of concentration and focus; but that seemed to be a normal instance when youth was applied to the scheme of things. It had taken all of them time to manage, to understand, and to pluck at the necessary strings running through their blood. At the very least, he’d be safe to do so here, tucked away and practicing without the folly of anyone else.
His gaze went to the rain altered into snow, granting another nod of his head. “Well done.” Pausing, intending to push in another direction, he took another steadier breath. “See if it will come naturally to you.” In demonstration, he held out a palm, took one inhale, and permitted an extension of water to pool above his hand, lingering and twirling as his enchantments and incantations wove amongst themselves.
His gaze went to the rain altered into snow, granting another nod of his head. “Well done.” Pausing, intending to push in another direction, he took another steadier breath. “See if it will come naturally to you.” In demonstration, he held out a palm, took one inhale, and permitted an extension of water to pool above his hand, lingering and twirling as his enchantments and incantations wove amongst themselves.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
