who we are and all that we're trying to be
An intertwining of silence on the outskirts, polished, predatory movements serpentining through the midst of underbrush and leaves lasted only for so long – interrupted by the clatter of wagon wheels against the decayed, crunching fronds. He dragged it along until they reached a certain point, hunting not a resolution or goal for this morning’s sojourn. Previous discussions about seasons before them, the integral motions of Deepfrost, and its successor in LongNight, and the itch, the need, for motion, for action, brought him towards the forest, supposing he could at least get a head start on preparations.
Zuriel loomed nearby, already bored with the proceedings, nibbling on a few leaflets remaining here and there. Deimos took her quietude and remained just as hushed, pulling an ax from the wagon’s open, nearly empty expanse, and walking forward. His eyes drifted over eaves of timber, those still standing mighty and strong, capable of withstanding many more seasons and cycles, and to those that were fallen, left for naught but ultimate rot and decay. Tucking the tool along his belt, he inspected several logs, picking hardwood specifically, ones not completely eaten away from within – before rolling up his sleeves, taking hold of the munition, and beginning the follow through of sharpened edges against the tree, the sounds likely to reverberate through the wild expanse.
{open to anyone!}
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
