[seasonal event] arise from the dust

Deimos A continuation of another cycle immersed from the doom and gloom, wayward ideas extended to the Harpy to stave off the calamity, the acrimony, behind each of their eyes, open defiance of brooding contortions for something better, something brighter. On wings and plumes, he’d traversed along intervals of outskirts and other regions, searching for things to uproot and replant in the Shield’s garden, as he’d done in the past, though his efforts, after secrets pressed and unfolded, hadn’t been as furtive as he believed. For the most part, they marched and flew with intentions of surprise; eventual upheaval and discovery a given, but with a mismatched emblem of duplicity lingering underneath. Sharpened, keen, eagle eyes had spotted a particular flower – familiar, with an aching awareness of where their seeds, their pollen, their nectar, might have once come from – diving down and procuring its stalk, pulling along roots, dragging it between talons. Before long, there were others in clusters, and he’d gathered as much as he could. Then there were more, more, more in his sights, not enough space in his claws – and unleashed from nearby, birds on branches tumbled forth, following his efforts with enthusiasm. Perplexing; but he’d take it. So they followed back to the outskirts of the garden, and he intended to dive down amongst them in hushed, silent irreverence – stealthy glances back and forth from windows, presuming Kiada would do the same. Then he shifted back to human form, obliging the birds and their wares with a grateful nod, gathering the alpine flowers in their violet petals into a suitable pile, trowels and gloves appearing in his hands. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime