DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Screams and outcries poured and rippled, the peace lost – his head raising upwards like a predator’s, instant instincts, savagery, and demeanor honed - sharpened gaze catching at another figure along the outskirts. Lured from his rock, he tucked the makeshift cloth into a pocket, not bothering to investigate it now, swift maneuvers bringing him closer and closer to the individual stretching out a hand. Had it been some sort of trap, the Sword would’ve been long caught, snared, entangled with the tethers, a silent call for Zuriel, who’d been lingering nearby, piercing through his mind, instead of why this was occurring.
He crouched and kneeled by the unfamiliar figure, not taking the man’s palm, but studying, perusing, trying to piece together the bizarre exchange – eyes taking in the blood soaking through the man’s fingers, wishing the unicorn would be swift; he wasn’t capable of doing much else in the healing process. “Hang on,” he rumbled, swallowing down bile, notions of another, of so many others, in the same damned throngs beating echoes and drums into his brain. Perhaps while the mare was making her way there, he could keep the man busy, distracted, deterred. “What happened?”
He crouched and kneeled by the unfamiliar figure, not taking the man’s palm, but studying, perusing, trying to piece together the bizarre exchange – eyes taking in the blood soaking through the man’s fingers, wishing the unicorn would be swift; he wasn’t capable of doing much else in the healing process. “Hang on,” he rumbled, swallowing down bile, notions of another, of so many others, in the same damned throngs beating echoes and drums into his brain. Perhaps while the mare was making her way there, he could keep the man busy, distracted, deterred. “What happened?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
