DEIMOS
He’d committed the necessities to memory. Leaves (all different levels of decomposition). Efas herb. A bone with fertile soil. Water from the oasis during a full moon. They weren’t recited so much as painstakingly driven into his mind, and when his duties were either completed and he had some amount of time before roaming back to the infirmary, he set out for the woods – the hours of daylight extended, giving him ample opportunities before dusk. Crimson intricacies stared back at him, contortions of ichor and blood pulsing, beating, from the hymns and roots of the trees, something familiar, customary, in the overflow of tension, of past, fleeting days, of lives from before, and subsequently after, enamel he’d always known and understood (terror, beacons of demons, you cannot have happiness for long).
Except for the determination grinding at his bones, except for the mettle, the obstinance, the tenacity unfurling in his movements.
Bag on his shoulder, Zuriel at his side, and weapons tucked within or on his form, he was a maneuvering contortion of daring and provocations, searching for the right assortment of fronds, branches, and brambles, either those awaiting decomposition, or at the beginning stages of life, his gaze to the canopies, and then to the ground below.
Except for the determination grinding at his bones, except for the mettle, the obstinance, the tenacity unfurling in his movements.
Bag on his shoulder, Zuriel at his side, and weapons tucked within or on his form, he was a maneuvering contortion of daring and provocations, searching for the right assortment of fronds, branches, and brambles, either those awaiting decomposition, or at the beginning stages of life, his gaze to the canopies, and then to the ground below.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
