DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Nothing refuted in the series of sagas, triumphs, and melancholy; everyone having some form of a story where the world cut too close, where the blades simmered in too deep, where suffering clambered and closed over a portion of the mind. But at the whims and entanglements of goldfish, the beast could only chuckle over the lines of the animal connections; the nightmare cat come to terrorize (and if Loren only understood that in another world, another time, another place, he’d been less cat and more intimidating cretin, the creature, the maneuvering, living, breathing weapon sending fear into the hearts of his enemies, or that sometimes he missed it, the shuddering of others before him).
But then the summoner had enough of the antics, other things to do, and Deimos rose from the shoreline, stretching, shaking again, likely needing to do much of the same – the diversions remiss once more, fleeting, fleeting, fleeting, a billowing essence no one could really snag for long. Too many other things to do, too many other tempestuous edges to explore. He extended a nod of goodbye, acknowledgment to both, and then he too was gone from the way he’d come, winding along wooded trails and thickets.
- FIN
But then the summoner had enough of the antics, other things to do, and Deimos rose from the shoreline, stretching, shaking again, likely needing to do much of the same – the diversions remiss once more, fleeting, fleeting, fleeting, a billowing essence no one could really snag for long. Too many other things to do, too many other tempestuous edges to explore. He extended a nod of goodbye, acknowledgment to both, and then he too was gone from the way he’d come, winding along wooded trails and thickets.
- FIN
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
