DEIMOS
The beast shook his head; the starlit goddess hadn’t been furious or ignited, irritated perhaps at Jigano, but most of them felt that in one way or another at any given time. It hadn’t been Amalia’s fault she hadn’t stopped Ronin. None of them had. It wasn’t her burden to carry, and temples could be fixed. Sanctuaries and shrines could be repaired. They couldn’t immediately replace the Shield (even if it had worked once before; luck slipping away).
Thereafter though, he snorted, a great sigh billowing forth, undulating along breaths and stunned regards. Why she was surprised at his notions, intended sojourns, or anything along such lines was a wonder in itself – hadn’t he done it before? He’d searched and followed Fae lines and tethers when she and Kiada had been abducted, when he’d craved naught more than violence for the sacrifices rendered. Hadn’t he helped to carve a damned tunnel from her bakery to the prison, in case they couldn’t get her out of shackles and chains? Hadn’t they promised one another, amongst books and dust? The Sword had never forgotten such a conviction. So he slipped it between them now, again and again, ricochets and echoes, whispers in the shade and dusk, in the hallowed moonlight puncturing through windows and doors. “Yes,” a pause, an answer for both goddess and fiend. “I will always try to save you.” Maybe the rest didn’t need to be said; perhaps it will spark a memory, of all those days lost into the woven nature of time, when they might’ve had a space to breathe.
He pressed her against his chest again, inhaled sharply, exhaled slowly, meandering and mulling, taking in what he could have now, what he could cherish in those granules of seconds and minutes. Fleeting; everything felt so fleeting. Yes, I can, proud and potent and strong, enough to carry her for eternity, to the ends of the earth if she wished, craved, yearned for it. But you can always shift.
Thereafter though, he snorted, a great sigh billowing forth, undulating along breaths and stunned regards. Why she was surprised at his notions, intended sojourns, or anything along such lines was a wonder in itself – hadn’t he done it before? He’d searched and followed Fae lines and tethers when she and Kiada had been abducted, when he’d craved naught more than violence for the sacrifices rendered. Hadn’t he helped to carve a damned tunnel from her bakery to the prison, in case they couldn’t get her out of shackles and chains? Hadn’t they promised one another, amongst books and dust? The Sword had never forgotten such a conviction. So he slipped it between them now, again and again, ricochets and echoes, whispers in the shade and dusk, in the hallowed moonlight puncturing through windows and doors. “Yes,” a pause, an answer for both goddess and fiend. “I will always try to save you.” Maybe the rest didn’t need to be said; perhaps it will spark a memory, of all those days lost into the woven nature of time, when they might’ve had a space to breathe.
He pressed her against his chest again, inhaled sharply, exhaled slowly, meandering and mulling, taking in what he could have now, what he could cherish in those granules of seconds and minutes. Fleeting; everything felt so fleeting. Yes, I can, proud and potent and strong, enough to carry her for eternity, to the ends of the earth if she wished, craved, yearned for it. But you can always shift.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
