DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
The teasing rolled along his shoulders, an arch to his brow despite the dark, despite her blindness, indicating he would singe and kill, rip and tear, if it became a necessity. The notion of being incapable of thwarting some giant earthworms might’ve caused a massive snort – except he’d learned not to think anything on this damned earth as inept or ineffectual, something threatening lurking beneath clouds of dust, of ash, of spectral lights; he wouldn’t discount a worm thriving along the water either. His eyes went to her fire, the attuned predilections then flickering away from it, garnering their ambience in the shadows, slow, presiding, predacious motions inclining towards the designated target, net silently unfolding in his hands. It was a rapacious stalking, hushed and vivid, a customary semblance of movement he’d adopted and adapted to within Helovia, when chasing shadows, when protecting, when patrolling, when doing anything to save anyone in his kingdom. At her actions, he nodded, not yearning to indicate any other sound, an opportunity for the worm to snag and take, wriggle, evade, and escape.
Then like a ghost, like a wraith, like a phantom, he unfurled the netting, ends weighted down, attempting to toss it over the beast, intending for gravity, aim, direction, and precision to ensure its capture.
