DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Finally he could coax the slightest of relieved sighs from his chest, watching, waiting, for something else to burst, to fall apart – and when it didn’t, the most minimal essence of triumph settled and pooling in his veins. He crouched, inspecting the water trickling out, dripping along the newfound system, down into the dried, thirsty soil. He still didn’t have the makings of a farmer, but had been content to contribute to any resources they could viably provide to the Hollowed Grounds citizens and inhabitants. His eyes lifted again though, sliding over to Loren, who appeared to be in some form of meditation, and as he witnessed the water continue to trickle, not flow, he pondered the schemes, what else they could do. The beast stood, making his way over to the summoner, a tilt to his head; he had no power over the liquid, not like his mother had, clever and quick, quiet and resolute, but he could still try to lend aid where he could. “What else do you need?” The Sword inquired, barely more than a whisper, a grumble, a growl, in effort to not break apart Loren’s ruminations.
