DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
After partaking in some of the food, the Sword merely leaned against the table, eyes flickering back and forth, from individual to individual, before pinpointing back to Jigano. The speech was long, but he endured, moving away from the provision station, and more towards the lantern adornments. In the vivid tenacity of silence, his glance went from the pre-made illuminations, to those supplies waiting to be cast and molded – he’d already made segments for his mother, for his father for the upcoming Festival. Would it be far more fitting to snag one for the rest of his who’d been lost? The names were lengthy, too many chiseled away in the corner of his mind, but instead of taking the measures already solidified, he chose to remain, waiting, for Jigano’s lesson. Maybe it would carry and hold more meaning. Maybe it wouldn’t matter at all, as they journeyed and embarked along the sea.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
