near half-empty

Deimos The roar of the river was a temptation on its own – pieces and pockets of yesteryears and currents, potent, powerful rivulets, as if it were the ocean, much like the mountains, calling and seething and boiling in his blood. His eyes went to it immediately, his figure ambled along the rocks and stones, ultimately a creature, a heathen, of habit, lured by the concoctions of things reminding him of broken shards, of the past, of the present, of ramparts and landmarks. He caught the glint of goldfish, the splash of the tides rolling in against embankments, standing along the first massive monument of a boulder he could reach, Colossus of Rhodes from where he stood, narrowing his eyes at the expanse – And then turning away, shifting down off the rock, not to be compelled today. Not when he had so many other things to achieve. Not when he had so many others things to do. Bag over his shoulder, head raised, the Sword pinpointed his movements towards the sanction of forest instead, rummaging once more on careful inspection and examination, the scrutiny of discernment in his eyes: missions and motives, contemplations and convictions embedded in each step, firmer and fiercer than the last. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime