DEIMOS
Zuriel’s ears were far greater than his – a warning indication as they flickered back and forth, as her head rose to stare into the canopies, along the sky – so when a familiar form of harpy eagle drifted downward, shifting, unfurling, unveiling, there was no amount of dread or apprehension. Comfortable, in the essence of their carefully-forged family, a sense of ease in how they clambered, how they roamed, and he arched a brow at her appearance and approach, at the amusement stoking amongst bonds. Because he hadn’t been occupied by anything bemusing in days.
Because the last time he’d seen her she’d been amongst the broken. Like a majority of them, flailing around the edges and intervals of something meant to be enlightening and uplifting. He meant to ask her how she was feeling - but presumed it'd be met with a scoff.
While the unicorn ensued a light nicker to the luxere, the Sword drifted onward, swallowing down a rancorous sigh, lined with too many overwhelming, overbearing things, his eyes only seeking hers once before winding along branches. “A leaf.” Plenty of them around, so the comment likely sounded completely asinine. Were it anyone else, he wouldn’t have given any explanation, content to remain aloof and nonchalant, let the world think him a fool or distant, reserved, withdrawn. “I received a quest from Safrin. She asked for leaves in various stages of decomposition.” Not to be taken lightly either; he couldn’t fathom her being satisfied with him picking up a clump of the fronds and deciding they were enough. He maneuvered forward, glimpsing at particular ones, looking for something designated straight in the middle of life: neither completely withered nor full of fervency and zest.
Because the last time he’d seen her she’d been amongst the broken. Like a majority of them, flailing around the edges and intervals of something meant to be enlightening and uplifting. He meant to ask her how she was feeling - but presumed it'd be met with a scoff.
While the unicorn ensued a light nicker to the luxere, the Sword drifted onward, swallowing down a rancorous sigh, lined with too many overwhelming, overbearing things, his eyes only seeking hers once before winding along branches. “A leaf.” Plenty of them around, so the comment likely sounded completely asinine. Were it anyone else, he wouldn’t have given any explanation, content to remain aloof and nonchalant, let the world think him a fool or distant, reserved, withdrawn. “I received a quest from Safrin. She asked for leaves in various stages of decomposition.” Not to be taken lightly either; he couldn’t fathom her being satisfied with him picking up a clump of the fronds and deciding they were enough. He maneuvered forward, glimpsing at particular ones, looking for something designated straight in the middle of life: neither completely withered nor full of fervency and zest.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
