DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos took his time, purposefully, to either let the blacksmith stew, consider, think through his actions, or to merely stand, waiting. The Sword retrieved the artifacts they’d left into the snow, maneuvering targets back in their proper positions, remaining in vigilant, intimidating silence, machinations and motions of the meticulous. Nonchalant, his features revealed absolutely nothing – no conveyance of his irritation for Oliver’s earlier antics, no frustration for things remaining unchanged, no exasperation or impatience for incessant whining. His earlier sentiments should’ve made his thoughts clear.
Eventually, once he’d dragged, pocketed, or gathered everything together, the puncturing fathoms of his eyes riveted straight for the younger man. “Inside,” cool, cold, a glacial, frigid grate of his voice, and he stalked forward, into the threshold of the barracks, no need to have their conversation in the midst of winter when they’d already spent hours out in it. Expecting Oliver to follow, he wound his way through the armory and to the front parlor, removing gloves and furs, putting them on the table. The invitation for Oliver to sit was extended with a hand, but the General remained standing, leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest. “Explain your behavior.” Because from what he’d seen, noted, and noticed, was an individual who ceased trying the moment something became difficult.
Eventually, once he’d dragged, pocketed, or gathered everything together, the puncturing fathoms of his eyes riveted straight for the younger man. “Inside,” cool, cold, a glacial, frigid grate of his voice, and he stalked forward, into the threshold of the barracks, no need to have their conversation in the midst of winter when they’d already spent hours out in it. Expecting Oliver to follow, he wound his way through the armory and to the front parlor, removing gloves and furs, putting them on the table. The invitation for Oliver to sit was extended with a hand, but the General remained standing, leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest. “Explain your behavior.” Because from what he’d seen, noted, and noticed, was an individual who ceased trying the moment something became difficult.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
