DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
While she stitched over the initial layers, he could feel some of the pain recede. The trickle of blood ceased, and the injury wouldn’t appear to be as harmful when he returned home to the scrutinizing eyes of both Evie and Zuriel. Though as she spoke, he found he didn’t recognize the name; making sense moments later when she granted her region and occupation. “Better, thank you,” he offered initially, maneuvering his arm and rolling his shoulders; less aches, and more to be mended later.
Figuring he’d broach on politeness as well, he offered introductions. “I am Deimos. We are heading back to the Citadel, if you are heading in that direction.” A few of the soldiers began to pick up their portions of ropes on the sled, tending back to their duties and pieces now that they were feeling not as maligned; not a mistake he’d be making again. “None of us are menders, but we could provide you information along the way.” Mostly about the dangers of the tundra; the barbaric world around them (that, ultimately, he wouldn’t have in any other composition).
Figuring he’d broach on politeness as well, he offered introductions. “I am Deimos. We are heading back to the Citadel, if you are heading in that direction.” A few of the soldiers began to pick up their portions of ropes on the sled, tending back to their duties and pieces now that they were feeling not as maligned; not a mistake he’d be making again. “None of us are menders, but we could provide you information along the way.” Mostly about the dangers of the tundra; the barbaric world around them (that, ultimately, he wouldn’t have in any other composition).
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
