who we are and all that we're trying to be
Unaware of her ministrations or machinations from below the fathoms, he continued on his own, ears flicking back and forth to note he was listening; keen, entirely, eternally aware. Bags were placed, maneuvered, hastened by paws and jaws, his Stygian shape making quick work of the surroundings.
He didn’t know what to say about the pretty name; the meaning had always held darker connotations, and he’d never corrected anyone on its measures. Sometimes it was a moon, sometimes it was darkness, sometimes it just patterns of a life from before and then after. Thank you was all he could proffer and extend in return, shuffling further down the line of bags again and again.
They can. I have seen dragons, manticores… he broke off, permitting her the notion of wondering, of pondering, how far the realities, conjectures, and possibilities remained. When they are strong enough. Capable. Had endured some other figment of raw, undulating force, been forged on the lines of fire. His great head bowed against the wind and he nudged a few more of the sand contortions into place, then surveyed the scene. We might be done anyway.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
