DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He didn’t really want to talk about it – more inclined to sit and simmer, brew and brood, in the consternation of his failures, in the way the world had shifted underneath him. He only gave a nod, not craving to think any further on it, saving the pain for another segment of time. A clench of his jaw, feathering through muscles forged in iron and steel and rusting from the inside out.
Besides, attention and focus was required for the upcoming task – and crossing over the threshold, bombarded with memories, with reminders, with everything that had been Kiada amidst intangible parameters, crushed against his heart. A mighty, stoic breath inhaled, exhaled, and he tried to parse through the surrounding, impending void, sharpened eyes taking in the scene, listening for any notions, any noise –
Chulane found the luxere first, before the hearth, dying embers saying far more than anything they could signify. With the man’s expertise in animals, he’d likely be able to ascertain what was required, necessary, than Deimos – who dealt with death, who couldn’t ever heal on his own.
The notions that the luxere could be gone, just like the soul bonded to him, rasped painfully along the edges of his throat, until the Halo inhabitant seemed to find life within, and the monolith could do something other than standing there, biding moments away. A shortened nod, and Deimos was crouched there, extending a bowl hastened from creation incantations, rapidly filled with water, enchanted just the same. “I can bring Zuriel in too.” If there was a need for healing – the uncertainty and unknown continually grasping, pulling, and tearing.
Besides, attention and focus was required for the upcoming task – and crossing over the threshold, bombarded with memories, with reminders, with everything that had been Kiada amidst intangible parameters, crushed against his heart. A mighty, stoic breath inhaled, exhaled, and he tried to parse through the surrounding, impending void, sharpened eyes taking in the scene, listening for any notions, any noise –
Chulane found the luxere first, before the hearth, dying embers saying far more than anything they could signify. With the man’s expertise in animals, he’d likely be able to ascertain what was required, necessary, than Deimos – who dealt with death, who couldn’t ever heal on his own.
The notions that the luxere could be gone, just like the soul bonded to him, rasped painfully along the edges of his throat, until the Halo inhabitant seemed to find life within, and the monolith could do something other than standing there, biding moments away. A shortened nod, and Deimos was crouched there, extending a bowl hastened from creation incantations, rapidly filled with water, enchanted just the same. “I can bring Zuriel in too.” If there was a need for healing – the uncertainty and unknown continually grasping, pulling, and tearing.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
