DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Wiggling movements, body parts likely to dig into the ground, a leg freed – but other than Oliver’s paws digging into his own – the movements seemed abysmally futile. The nails stung and bit into more of the pain languishing over his figure, but wouldn’t deter him from his current stance. Deimos was too large, too massive, too broad, too strong, and Oliver had made the fatal mistake of allowing himself to be felled into the ground. Were he a bit more experienced, he might’ve found a way to clamber further out (a few notions came into the Sword’s mind – sand or dirt in the eyes, biting at him, doing something other than reeling into nervousness). Instead, it seemed to be all apprehension.
The tilt of the General’s head indicated only a predatory awareness; were he not so readily in control of his being, of his mind, these circumstances could easily fall apart into death and destruction. His vocals rumbled through the Attuned bond, rough, grating, and deep – the slightest inclination of irritation. If you were to simply give up out there, and he lifted his jaw to incline towards the woods, the fields, the wilderness, the world outside this one, you would die. He maneuvered one giant paw intended for Oliver’s shoulder, and another attempting to lock down his hindquarters. Try something else.
The tilt of the General’s head indicated only a predatory awareness; were he not so readily in control of his being, of his mind, these circumstances could easily fall apart into death and destruction. His vocals rumbled through the Attuned bond, rough, grating, and deep – the slightest inclination of irritation. If you were to simply give up out there, and he lifted his jaw to incline towards the woods, the fields, the wilderness, the world outside this one, you would die. He maneuvered one giant paw intended for Oliver’s shoulder, and another attempting to lock down his hindquarters. Try something else.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
