DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
He was without swords and armor, blades and chainmail, or targets today. Instead, it was a restless stretch of sinew, muscle, and fur, raw power undulating beneath predatory acclaim. Goals and bullseyes didn’t factor into his beastly manifestation at this hour, along the haze of flickering, chilling moonlight, the press of Leafchange echoing and brandishing on their limbs.
To fight in the evening, to practice in the dark, with a feline gaze and senses, poised for destruction, for ruin, for annihilation, for things he couldn’t achieve in the last season. For those left behind. For those left to freezing conjectures and nothingness. For all the failures wearing and bearing down upon his hide.
So Deimos stalked in the pale, luminescent glow, in the vibrant stretch of pooled shadow and darkness, eyes narrowed at the pinpricks of movement from the breeze, rapacious edges as he maneuvered and motioned along the back fields, the training grounds, setting his sights on anything and everything making its presence known in the dark. Better, he promised himself. You will be better.
To fight in the evening, to practice in the dark, with a feline gaze and senses, poised for destruction, for ruin, for annihilation, for things he couldn’t achieve in the last season. For those left behind. For those left to freezing conjectures and nothingness. For all the failures wearing and bearing down upon his hide.
So Deimos stalked in the pale, luminescent glow, in the vibrant stretch of pooled shadow and darkness, eyes narrowed at the pinpricks of movement from the breeze, rapacious edges as he maneuvered and motioned along the back fields, the training grounds, setting his sights on anything and everything making its presence known in the dark. Better, he promised himself. You will be better.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
