who we are and all that we're trying to be
He hadn’t been much of a farmer, and it’d been clear as day the multiple times he simply tried to navigate and create a damned irrigation route – but it was over and done with, accomplished eventually.
The Sword shook his head, a modicum of agreement – hence why the General was traversing away from the outlines of the fields, where disaster had reigned and pummeled, where the haunting decibels of music shifting into eerie shock, silence, and then disarray would forever be kindled in nightmares: realities too poignant and clawing. “Maybe a bird, or a rodent then.” He shrugged; not remotely bothered by the aspect of some ancient, decrepit prey being utilized for their efforts, wandering into the fold of the woods, the sheen of shadows, brushing aside soil and leaf litter with his foot.
Deimos hadn’t expected anything else, used to others drawing back into silence around him, committed to the hushed vestiges. Certainly not the question harpooned in his wake – so much so that he froze, remaining completely taut and rigid in the midst of the tree line, staring at the ground while the inquiry pummeled towards him. “Yes,” followed without hesitation, without pause, but everything else thereafter was pieced together in a spiraling formation. Where was this coming from? Had he ever given any indication that he’d thought otherwise, that he sought out to sever their connections and accord? That he’d just abandon her, because she’d been hurt? Because it would take time to heal? Was that how others saw him? He didn’t know whether to be offended or devastated, and the mask of reticence and reserve slipped, eyes widening, features fixed in a way that maybe he’d been struck by a massive blow, that he was some destined casualty on the frontlines. Hurt. It hurt; down in the ramparts of his chest, in the suddenly scalding juncture of his rib cage. He didn’t even bother listening to the threats and warnings, nor returning to his look of nonchalance, as his piercing stare fixed directly upon Adam. “Where is this coming from? Did she say something?” Another wound he’d bear – because he thought she understood who and what he was.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
