DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
“Yes,” he responded at first, thinking back over to days amidst the Tides, with the moonlight on the horizon and the world at their feet. He’d been immersed in kingdoms full of glacial wakes and tempestuous eaves, where the chilling ramparts sunk their way into his bones and carved him in their reflections. Still, the sands of Isilme had provided enough warmth so none of them died of hypothermia, and they looked upon the sea as a gift, as value, as power, amidst the undulations. It was vast, eternally strong, a place of peace and predilection all in one accord, something to be treated with respect and dignity.
Her quip ceased on the rush of mischief, and the Sword snickered from his place in the depths, feet touching the bottom of the sea bed as he still waited for her to make an entrance. Given her inexperience with the water, it was understandable, but he was also there, and had no intentions of allowing any harm to come to her. The beast shrugged at her unfair declaration, not giving it more than it was due (though she was probably right – admitting it out along the vestiges wasn’t something he was committing to). They’d had far more devilish, vengeful conflagrations in the past –
Ah, and there it was. An expectation of the inevitable, as she laughed and renounced consternation for melee and upheaval. A launching of attuned considerations, and he watched for a moment, piercing out what she was attempting to do, as qilin proportions forced leaps and bounds, and then crashing back down, pinkish hues announcing dolphin forms. He withstood the counter-attack, closing his eyes as the waves and splashes swept over him, soaking into tied-up locks and down vacant backs, a ripple of undulations through his spine, his flesh, as his body became used to the soaking stretches. A snort, a ring of laughter rumbled through his chest, shaking his head, hands going to brush over soaked features.
Then he reopened them, inclining a brow upward. “You do not require a lesson in that form.” Maybe she didn’t, and inherent abilities of the animals’ natures would streamline into her mind, into her muscles, and she wouldn’t need him at all.
Her quip ceased on the rush of mischief, and the Sword snickered from his place in the depths, feet touching the bottom of the sea bed as he still waited for her to make an entrance. Given her inexperience with the water, it was understandable, but he was also there, and had no intentions of allowing any harm to come to her. The beast shrugged at her unfair declaration, not giving it more than it was due (though she was probably right – admitting it out along the vestiges wasn’t something he was committing to). They’d had far more devilish, vengeful conflagrations in the past –
Ah, and there it was. An expectation of the inevitable, as she laughed and renounced consternation for melee and upheaval. A launching of attuned considerations, and he watched for a moment, piercing out what she was attempting to do, as qilin proportions forced leaps and bounds, and then crashing back down, pinkish hues announcing dolphin forms. He withstood the counter-attack, closing his eyes as the waves and splashes swept over him, soaking into tied-up locks and down vacant backs, a ripple of undulations through his spine, his flesh, as his body became used to the soaking stretches. A snort, a ring of laughter rumbled through his chest, shaking his head, hands going to brush over soaked features.
Then he reopened them, inclining a brow upward. “You do not require a lesson in that form.” Maybe she didn’t, and inherent abilities of the animals’ natures would streamline into her mind, into her muscles, and she wouldn’t need him at all.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
