Yield resounded through his ears, and Deimos stepped back, sheathing the blade. In another world, the word wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have held any power over him. Trust, honor, integrity, or morality wouldn’t have been instilled. It could’ve been death, sword plunging through tissue, skin, and flesh; another threat, another adversary neutralized, diminished, and vanquished. But this was a different land with a different purpose: he continued to guard and uphold the Hollowed Grounds, but not against an intruder, or anyone who clearly sought to harm. As if it was naught more than practice, pretenses, an upholding of skills, the layers and lacquer returned to normalcy; less taut, less rigid, less composed into battle tactics or strategies. She collected her armaments and munitions too, his eyes on the assortment of knives (not unlike his own; tucked anywhere and everywhere) and the scythe, before conforming back to Weaver. [say]“Yes,”[/say] they could train – especially when she already had a knack for precision and prowess. [say]“Our barracks have a training grounds. Come find me when you are ready.”[/say] Instilled for multiple weapons and abilities, for anyone yearning to better themselves, to learn how to defend, how to savage. She’d be able to keep him on his toes too – enact further prowess and strength, might and fortitude. It’d been a long time since he’d been appropriately tested.
Perhaps they’d both received what they came for, whether they realized it or not. He’d been deterred and distracted from circumventing, revolving melancholy and angst; he wasn’t certain what she’d required, other than stories of Fae traditions. The General didn’t expect the extended offer though, and took it in stride, a formal nod. [say]“Thank you,”[/say] derived on a snort at the final proclamation, before they turned to leave. Zuriel bobbed her head towards Weaver, perhaps appreciative she wouldn’t have to be healing anyone after this particular onslaught, and Deimos gave a final salute, before they both disappeared back into the woodland shadows.
(FIN)
Perhaps they’d both received what they came for, whether they realized it or not. He’d been deterred and distracted from circumventing, revolving melancholy and angst; he wasn’t certain what she’d required, other than stories of Fae traditions. The General didn’t expect the extended offer though, and took it in stride, a formal nod. [say]“Thank you,”[/say] derived on a snort at the final proclamation, before they turned to leave. Zuriel bobbed her head towards Weaver, perhaps appreciative she wouldn’t have to be healing anyone after this particular onslaught, and Deimos gave a final salute, before they both disappeared back into the woodland shadows.
(FIN)
