you aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
The good old days had at least been riveted with things he understood. He’d known and comprehended the value of sturdy kingdoms and battlements, the subtle shift in power and dominion, the bare bones of recruiting, the orchestration of other feral efforts. The Gods could be ignored while they chased down infidels and raised ramparts, while they feasted upon the blood of their enemies, while they coated their wares and upheavals with rancorous injustices. This was wholly unfamiliar and damned to begin with; and while he didn’t say it, didn’t voice it, something felt like it was another hopeless, weighted cause they had no way to solve, no immersion to measure, nothing, nothing, nothing but an endless loop of the blistering unknown. He smiled at her insinuations, but it was brief and fleeting, a lot of like any mode of contentment they managed to acquire these days – there, hesitant, swift, and quick, gone in the next moment, struck from the pages.
At her touch, he tipped and dipped his head, the consolations ringing over his ears – he wanted to believe in them, in his own vicious, self-deprecating way; he should’ve been able to protect Kiada, because that was what he’d sworn to do. This was just one more highlight in the dozens of failures flickering and bounding around them, mocking little gestures of defeated enterprises. But he listened anyway, nodding, striving to soak them into those perilous wounds and scarring grudges. It had started in the Greatwood, along the Mathair, its roots sunken into the ground, then unwinding into the ether. They probably never had a chance.
The beast nodded again, meandering into his feral silence, where he thought too much and occupied stillness, reticent, nonchalant space, so the world didn’t seem him flailing and faltering. Only when she pronounced she was ready did he extend his arm, an imploring gesture, he would follow, dutifully behind and guarding. “Lead the way.” Because he didn’t know where anyone prayed (or likely, in his case, snarled) to a Voice, or if it would hold any impact at all.
At her touch, he tipped and dipped his head, the consolations ringing over his ears – he wanted to believe in them, in his own vicious, self-deprecating way; he should’ve been able to protect Kiada, because that was what he’d sworn to do. This was just one more highlight in the dozens of failures flickering and bounding around them, mocking little gestures of defeated enterprises. But he listened anyway, nodding, striving to soak them into those perilous wounds and scarring grudges. It had started in the Greatwood, along the Mathair, its roots sunken into the ground, then unwinding into the ether. They probably never had a chance.
The beast nodded again, meandering into his feral silence, where he thought too much and occupied stillness, reticent, nonchalant space, so the world didn’t seem him flailing and faltering. Only when she pronounced she was ready did he extend his arm, an imploring gesture, he would follow, dutifully behind and guarding. “Lead the way.” Because he didn’t know where anyone prayed (or likely, in his case, snarled) to a Voice, or if it would hold any impact at all.
but you're terrified of
letting anyone in
letting anyone in
DEIMOS
