DEIMOS
The afternoon rain had brought him out – whispers and ghosts of the past lingering in droplets and cascades, and the beast longing to drown beneath their weight and wake. He wasn’t bothered by the sousing, drenched and never beholden, consecrated and baptized in the enigmatic ethers of quandary after quandary, head lifted to the skies as they opened, and ceasing to duck down, pelted by their colder touches and fringes. How many times had he encountered such measures in Helovia, within the Basin’s deluges and inhabitants, a stark turn of the day, and absorbed it all? Such was the same now – fur, hide, and the sack over his shoulder (he’d misplaced his bag of holding; would have to take closer inspections on his routes) embedded in the showers. Zuriel stepped close behind, silent in her perusals, while the sounds of the rain plopped against swords, blades, and knives tucked along his belt.
By the time he’d crossed into woods, the weather had dissipated into naught all over again – sun striking on turning, deadened, or withered leaves; a passing, formidable gesture, reminders of blistering torrents and mercurial containments. He shook off a majority, the unicorn following suit, and as they meandered through the ethereal boundaries, the equine grew more and more distracted.
By puddles.
His gaze lingered on her, a sigh on plumes and ridiculousness, as she seemed to peer into the depths of the waterlogged soil. She’d study them for a series of moments, then shy away, only to go to the next, then the next, then the next – and after a while, with no explanation, the deadpan, dry reverberation pulsing through their connection. What are you doing?
She took her time in answering, an mystifying creature with some sort of eternal, unearthly connotation, and he was about to move on when she finally chose to respond, blue eyes never on his. Looking – there are images. His brow arched and he maneuvered closer, choosing one nearby on a sheer provocation of intrigue and curiosity (though the notion that she was simply choosing to trick him was embedded in his mind), looking down into the surface.
A flash of gold, tawny brown feathers, long, long talons, gripping, ripping, tearing.
Then it was gone.
--
Open thread! Come look in Wonder Puddles!
By the time he’d crossed into woods, the weather had dissipated into naught all over again – sun striking on turning, deadened, or withered leaves; a passing, formidable gesture, reminders of blistering torrents and mercurial containments. He shook off a majority, the unicorn following suit, and as they meandered through the ethereal boundaries, the equine grew more and more distracted.
By puddles.
His gaze lingered on her, a sigh on plumes and ridiculousness, as she seemed to peer into the depths of the waterlogged soil. She’d study them for a series of moments, then shy away, only to go to the next, then the next, then the next – and after a while, with no explanation, the deadpan, dry reverberation pulsing through their connection. What are you doing?
She took her time in answering, an mystifying creature with some sort of eternal, unearthly connotation, and he was about to move on when she finally chose to respond, blue eyes never on his. Looking – there are images. His brow arched and he maneuvered closer, choosing one nearby on a sheer provocation of intrigue and curiosity (though the notion that she was simply choosing to trick him was embedded in his mind), looking down into the surface.
A flash of gold, tawny brown feathers, long, long talons, gripping, ripping, tearing.
Then it was gone.
--
Open thread! Come look in Wonder Puddles!
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
