who we are and all that we're trying to be
A predator’s stare followed the panther’s movements, too many questions and conclusions unwinding through his mind, the eyes narrowed in suspicious intervals, the layers and lacquer murky. When it seemed there was no other threat immersed, Deimos regained his movements, maneuvering out of the dangerously still formation, pressing enormous, Stygian paws into the sand. More than once he wandered along the embankment, and unbothered by the tides, by the current, by the notions of it streamlining around him (because it held an essence of home), he snagged at a few stray portions of debris.
Unlike the bizarre counterpart, the beast saw no reason to speak, no urge, to reason to share anything with the stranger. Once he’d swam out a little ways, he returned, shook the remnants of water from his hide, and released the bits and pieces back into his started pile. So he didn’t expect the apology, immersed into his work, causing him to raise his head, arch a canine brow.
At the very least, there were regrets in the decision (not for the Sword; who thought his warning and foreboding presence had been adequate). Sometimes it was difficult to decipher which animals were merely creatures, and which had human qualities embedded in them, wore the forms like a second skin. He accepted it with a vague nod, indicating naught else in his silence, rummaging for another trash heap that had been dug into the ground. Dry, rumbling tones followed thereafter, eyes not fixed on the feline. Do you frequently call over large dogs? Was this a habit with others, and Deimos would have to be careful when and where he shifted? He thought the size alone might daunt and intimidate, but perhaps he’d been mistaken. After all, despite his imposing figure, many still came to talk to him.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
