[PQ] Long may you run

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts He’d wanted more, expected more, to clamber and surround, to join in the fight – but there were some (just not the ones he thought might arrive). For that, he needed to be grateful, acknowledged Sam and the stranger, bobbing his head, appreciative of the attempts they made for those left in the woods. “Thank you,” he proffered, and then they seemed to be off, in that same, wandering, enigmatic curiosity that had likely snagged and ensnared their companions in the first place. The problem was that they were unaccustomed, unfamiliar, strangers in the void, fueled and incensed by their need to solve a problem, to snag their friends, but drowned in the murky depths of the unknown. It pressed against his senses and made him want to snarl, especially as they simply managed to wander their way back out, as if they hadn’t touched upon the surface of the copses or glades. Instead of growling or mauling something (which would air his frustration but not much more), Deimos narrowed his eyes back to Jigano. “I doubt Ianto will be coming,” he responded – the tick of failure clenching in his jaw. There hadn’t been enough time to successfully snag the fox; he’d have to do it some other time or moment, when debts and obligations could press harder. He did, however, have at least some noteworthy information. “According to a source, the captured are in the Sidhe Village, in a pit.” Which may not matter, if they couldn’t arrive there. Thereafter, Jigano appeared to have a conversation with a pair of crows, and any other time Deimos might have stared and been stupefied by the actions, but he knew better, he comprehended the ways magic and enchantments worked, how this world twisted their foundations and nestled their way into the most bizarre filaments. If this worked, he wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t have the right to, really. He had nothing left to proffer either. Except death, but they had no need of that yet. So he followed, because he had naught but the tenacity, the vexation, the fury, the resolve, and the exasperation binding into his soul, maneuvering his limbs, pulling him further and further away or closer, to their goals. the last of a line of lasts