like a wild thing

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame After all their disastrous, monumental movements from prior worlds, it would be impossible for Deimos not to find her one more rock he could lean upon. While he was stone and marble and monolith, she too was a fixture in the mercurial rise and fall; strong and enduring for everything she’d persevered through. They had their mutual heartaches and their lost souls, their war-torn vestiges locked and loaded in wild violence. They had their battle-cries that hardly anyone else could savor or understand, the taste of abandonment, ferocity, and savagery in their veins. A comfort, a shield, a barrier of wandering, soulless demons, forging onward and onward, treading over paths not yet tried by their manipulations or machinations. Being forced to find alternatives and alterations, assimilating while still hanging onto those knotted, gnarled assignations – he sighed, too caught in the abyss. He rotated the spit listlessly, thoughts more on failed enchantments and juxtapositioned parameters, the comprehension still fleeting, still lacking, still not justified. “I had no problems before,” a furrow to his brow – nothing ever waning like this, not when he’d had all the power, all the precision, in the palm of his hands. They’d glowed and prospered creations conjured only from his mind, warped and unraveled, durable fibers and metals, calculated efforts meant for his friends, for his loved ones. Now they were insignificant and wanting, lacking enchantments or effects. His eyes lifted at her last comment, a dry, muffled laugh beckoned from his chest. Perhaps that was why they had reigned well together – his patience and composure next to her impetuous, impulsive demeanors, both striking the earth, the winter summits, the bastion of supremacy and domination. “Perhaps it will return again. And yes, in the meantime, you can hone the powers you still maintain.” Practice, practice, practice, training, pondering, stretching it out until there was naught left – hitting limits before they were found in the tremulous aches and pains of a treacherous quest. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace