the wild screaming weight

Time has stopped before us The sky cannot ignore us Immortality had its edges too. She’d suffer and be reborn; to either find something worth grasping again, or lingering on the thresholds of everything she’d ever found wanting. Renewal could be bitter – that family had a particular way of dancing on the lines of death and managing to overcome them, but Deimos wondered about all the things Ru hadn’t said. That Sunjata didn’t offer. That between those designations some portions simply couldn’t come back whole; not yet, anyway. It had taken him some time to regain his senses upon resurrection. What did it mean for the Valkyrie, other than a new opportunity? Or was it just that – the dangling threads of goals and purposes realigning without a noose in front of them? Sunjata extended some of the insight a little further as plumage unfurled and Deimos took on another passing thermal, the lift of air feeding into his need for restless movement. Precautions for a wartime, parasitic fiend, and the whole notion of the inevitable; probably once he’d tried to understand the footholds of the Refuge. Deimos had believed it’d been firmly on a lack of trust, rather than the potential for more claws to sink in. And then it just died? He felt like he was missing a few steps, that all those knots had a few more gnarled portions he was forgoing, forgetting, before reality could truly tuck into the fathoms. His contentment for Ru’s subjective peace made the Sword narrow his eyes – not in any threatening measure, but concentration, speculation, an art of focus as they drifted along another intertwining valley, the glow of the luxere herds below. I agree he mentioned initially; a concurring of Ru not sticking around, not waiting, not lurking, not miring herself further into the orbit of someone who couldn’t, wouldn’t, want her. the Resurrected Sword No one can separate us For we are all that is left