DEIMOS
The venture had begun as somber and turned, twisted, into solemn routes; the bones in his hands and then amongst the fabric, as he peeled away more and more layers of dirt, debris, and rubble, as the bleached contortions became more than just figments in his palms. His jaw clenched and he could hear Amun’s song change, alter, in either tone or spirit, places people went after they were dead and gone (but he’d been that way too – before, before, before, and he wondered if this had been how it was back then, when his figure was just a gone, wretched thing, the soul no longer occupied, the essence lost and vanquished, hastening to a new form years and worlds away). Would it happen here and now? Would their spirits drift along, until they were snatched by Ludo, or allowed, permitted, to regain some corporeal form, resurrected like Ronin, like himself, like so many others who’d resisted the pull, the lure, of death? Or was it simply their time, condemned by the monsters, by the sedition, ignoring the warnings, the signs, the knowledge, and sagacity of yesteryears passed; either believing themselves strong enough to endure, or foolish enough to fight. His brow furrowed and his sigh softened, lifting the chipped away contortions into the cloth when they were found and discovered again and again, fragments of lives, some known, some prospered, some wasted away too soon. He could feel eyes on him though, so he remained quiet, lifting to scratch at Auni’s antlers again when he approached, and then shifting back and forth to rubble, to ruin, to lifted timber and sifting dirt; the rubble and ruin colliding against structures that were once human and real. When Kiada asked of their identity; he really couldn’t be certain to pinpoint any exact measures or calculations, just the three that had been entangled in the walls, waiting for some sort of final inferno. “Could be Roana, Caiside, or Cera.” He spread the fabric, the cloth, the woven threads, out further, in case any others came upon the enamel and osseus processes, saying naught more, some honor, some dignity, to come when they were done with their work here.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
