DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Rip currents were something all their youths had been taught back on the Moonlit Tides; to be unaware was a certain death, and so he nodded at the implications, the connections of the ignorance and unknown, combined with curiosity, were a lethal conjecture. He snorted at the notions of stranded sailboats out along bays and waves though – all the semblances much the same, just the difference in terrain harking to similar outcomes – nature was cruel and unforgiving. “Ah, so you already know what happens to the unprepared,” at which he wrinkled his nose, a dry tone, carefully not laying blame on the person he was dragging upon the sled, but they all knew enough individuals to have settled into the same forefront.
As for self-defense, he was pleasantly surprised to hear she had some capabilities. He’d ended up protecting and shielding multitudes when they were supposed to be assisting him along the tundra; making it a difficult feat to manage everything simultaneously. “Understandable,” he nodded. “But if you end up working here, you may want to get something ranged,” because neither elements nor beasts cared about who was suffering…just what potentially they could rampage through.
As for self-defense, he was pleasantly surprised to hear she had some capabilities. He’d ended up protecting and shielding multitudes when they were supposed to be assisting him along the tundra; making it a difficult feat to manage everything simultaneously. “Understandable,” he nodded. “But if you end up working here, you may want to get something ranged,” because neither elements nor beasts cared about who was suffering…just what potentially they could rampage through.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
