I carried my own ashes to the mountains
The people maneuvered, and he caught a few eye rolls, nonchalant expressions, or children pointing, laughing, along the lined paths. With nothing else to cease or slow him down, the beast dug in, muscles undulating, uncoiling, unfurling until he was truly an unleashed thing – a beacon, not of darkness or anguish, not of Reaper tendencies or Sword valor, but of determination, of steadfast endurance and fortitude. Of the perseverance eternally instilled within him, a freedom, a liberation, of grief and torment as paws slide across snow, as a cretin maneuvered along a world blending into another from lifetimes before. When he wasn’t overcome, when he wasn’t overwhelmed, when he wasn’t falling apart at the seams – stitching himself back together, one loop of thread at a time.
They raced and rushed, intermingling with the crowd before opening back up to where it’d all begun, and the threshold loomed ahead – a pulse of might barreling into his veins, ignoring the warnings, the aches, beginning to conform in the back of his mind. They said to pull back, to cease, to desist, to slow, and he did not. The fatigue settled in, far more rapid, far more painful, but with the sickness combined, it wasn’t so shocking. He just didn’t want to cease. Didn’t want the moments of strength to end. Didn’t want the past season to come searing up against him –
And soon Chulane’s great long legs had long since passed by, and Deimos was laboring, struggling, sides heaving, limbs flagging, and he had to slowly meander in, jaw gaping in panting breaths. He could see Zuriel rampaging in, ears pinned and very cross at him, but he couldn’t look her way; doomed to suffer for his own failings, for always pushing himself to the brink, and never asking for any of it to end. Sorry, he offered by way of apology, though he wasn’t what certain for. But congratulations on your win; a snicker to follow in between Attuned measures, while he caught his breath and eventually flopped into the snow.
{FIN}
They raced and rushed, intermingling with the crowd before opening back up to where it’d all begun, and the threshold loomed ahead – a pulse of might barreling into his veins, ignoring the warnings, the aches, beginning to conform in the back of his mind. They said to pull back, to cease, to desist, to slow, and he did not. The fatigue settled in, far more rapid, far more painful, but with the sickness combined, it wasn’t so shocking. He just didn’t want to cease. Didn’t want the moments of strength to end. Didn’t want the past season to come searing up against him –
And soon Chulane’s great long legs had long since passed by, and Deimos was laboring, struggling, sides heaving, limbs flagging, and he had to slowly meander in, jaw gaping in panting breaths. He could see Zuriel rampaging in, ears pinned and very cross at him, but he couldn’t look her way; doomed to suffer for his own failings, for always pushing himself to the brink, and never asking for any of it to end. Sorry, he offered by way of apology, though he wasn’t what certain for. But congratulations on your win; a snicker to follow in between Attuned measures, while he caught his breath and eventually flopped into the snow.
{FIN}
DEIMOS
