DEIMOS
You know I would not was all he could prosper thereafter – no, he wouldn’t deny any child of the snow a gift, a view, of the mountains, of the peaks and valleys that had once shaped them all – if it exists, beyond these reaches. That in itself was likely a dream, little pieces and pockets floating to him in slumber, beyond ghosts and haunting gestures, beyond wraiths and phantoms of the dead; it was the ocean he saw first and the summits he saw last, both wild, both tempting, both powerful and potent. The Sword didn’t notice her pause or hesitation, content to glide, hover, or harpoon into the depths, testing mettle, strength, and accord on the winds, settling in his own parallels of defiance and sedition, daring the world to do its worst as he serpentine through its eaves. At her insinuation, he glanced at her curiously; waiting for some declaration of what she could become, more representation of something beyond the Harpy.
He watched for a moment as she tucked along herself and dove down – following rapidly, inquisition eternally getting the better of him too, scholarly pursuits sometimes overriding machinations and calculations. She slid into the snow, and he chose to tuck himself along a log still not entirely immersed in snow, talons clicking into its wooden breadth. Instead of wings and vulture exploits, she morphed and altered into more feline attributes, bronze garbed – the smaller stature and the ear tufts remarkable. Impressive he noted, because he was, no lie strewn about the sensations of pride for her. I suppose you could make do. Another tease, another jocular comment; Kiada would always make do – it was how she’d survived for so long.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
