DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Slipping in beside him, hands and fingers intertwined with the Shield’s, the Sword’s rigid contortions visibly relaxed: spine not so taut, rigid, unbending, or unyielding. For the most part though he remained perfectly silent, indulging in age-old abilities of listening, of observing, of attempting to decipher the wherewithal and predilections of the unknown. He had always been painfully ignorant of the gods’ and their tendencies; and it was well-established now, as Ludo appeared, then slid back into ethers and vestiges, find me lilted and haunted over his mind.
A game. When had he last played or been entertained by a game?
Likely seasons before, when not so many had been lost, when broad shoulders were still able to carry the insurmountable weights, when mischief had been bound and established, and not by deities or heralds.
He wondered if it was a ruse, a trick. Or if this was something else entirely, and truly meant for entertainment. His eyes inclined towardsAmalia, who would be far more knowledgeable and understanding of what was going on, Attuned bond reaching through, stepping forward, hand still wrapped in hers. Should we? And which path best to take? Which shell to look under? Which bramble, which bough, which will-o-wisp to follow? It all seemed too numerous, too chaotic, and he was unaware again, poised in either direction.
A game. When had he last played or been entertained by a game?
Likely seasons before, when not so many had been lost, when broad shoulders were still able to carry the insurmountable weights, when mischief had been bound and established, and not by deities or heralds.
He wondered if it was a ruse, a trick. Or if this was something else entirely, and truly meant for entertainment. His eyes inclined towards
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
