DEIMOS
Only a slight sigh slipped through the cracks of his reticence as the bats hastened at their request, the combined efforts of everyone ushering the winged creatures out into the wilderness; it could’ve been relief, it could’ve been exasperation. Nothing was ever quite as simple as they craved it to be – not even picking out tomes for entertainment.Considering a majority of the time Deimos sought to either climb the walls, restlessly pace the floor, or brood in the corners during LongNight’s week of damnation, the novels might become a blessing in disguise.
He maneuvered back to his designated section, lowering his form, crouching before the makeshift shelves. There was a lot to be desired in these elements and fixations, as the more he inspected, the more disappointing the venture, hands picking through a few books before discovering spines falling apart, pages missing, covers crumbling, or obvious signs of paper wasps’ feasts. Another sigh managed to flicker along his chest and lungs, and he rose once more, eyes roaming further and further along the shelf, until he came to one in the back.
It seemed untouched; left to its own devices while its brethren were consumed and devoured. His stare narrowed suspiciously (maybe he’d learned his lesson from their adventure in Safrin’s library), and then he created a small stick in his hand, and blatantly poked the book, testing the waters.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
