DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Progress was progress, and growth was growth, no matter the length of time committed, no matter how damned slow it seemed and appeared – Deimos had learned that as a boy, struggling to wield wooden, training blades, striving to notch arrows, too slow, too daft to string together bestial movements. Some hours had been difficult and meandering, some days had seemed like eternities, and some moments utterly fleeting. As long as one continued moving forward, as long as one was earnest, determined, and wanted to achieve something, had faith in their efforts, then they would arrive there when they were ready. Otherwise, they’d be amongst and amidst the many trapped and snared by their failures, by their mistakes, mired, moored, and anchored in the pitfalls of development. He trusted Evie wouldn’t be in the latter, that she would rise above in those stalwart motions, in the steadfast conflagrations. She’d made it this far for this long. The only thing that would cease her advancement altogether was to ultimately cease in her ferocity or resolve.The speculation broke apart on her considerations, a curious arch to his brow and then nothing more but a residual grin. “Of course.” Not that he believed she’d cry her way through any training regime he could instill, pulling together the absent strings of the broken balloons, snorting all the while. Bending down to ensure all the other weapons and instruments had been picked up from the ground, he only raised his head in surprise at her last comment. After all this time, he still had difficulty in comprehending or understanding how he’d made any impact at all – defiant to refute the statement out of those insecure principles lodged somewhere in his mind, in the back of his throat. Returning to his full height, placing one of his knives back on their belt, the string tucked into his pockets, he regarded her again, smile half-forlorn, half-faded, never quite sure what to do when extended compliments and considerations. Shy away from them? Pretend they didn’t exist? Spurn them entirely, remind the world that he wasn’t worth their time and effort? “You are welcome,” unfurled instead, still not quite accepting, still capable of chiding, but swallowing down the tempestuous effort. “Come by next season. I will have something ready for you.” Then they could part, go their separate ways, back into the multitude of mayhem and other twisting, diabolical things.
- FIN
Unite and spread the heart apart
