DEIMOS
The beast laughed, laughed like he hadn’t in eons, a low rumble beginning to unfurl, echoing across the fields, and he didn’t care. Didn’t care that the stoicism, nonchalance, and reticence had faded in those moments, didn’t care that his emotions were real and pretenses, masks, had fallen away, didn’t care that the gratitude and appreciation for his friend curled along attuned connections and bonds. The chuckles were probably in relief, in reassurance, comfort, solace, a place to put their feet down upon the ground and not worry whether either were going to be devoured by the shadows. These were moments so blatantly scattered, that he’d rarely chased, and he wouldn’t be pilfering them off into the void, to be swallowed and consumed, to be gone within an instant. Neither of them deserved the weight of one more damned loss. Even the brambles and thorns of her snark were a respite and alleviation, a way to ward off the anguish, the pain, the melancholy of other days. The monolith didn’t release her, but the depths of his smile curled into juvenile fronts, cheeks dimpling, beckoning the mischief. “I am sorry,” and he meant it – that she hadn’t been on his mind when everything was so rapidly falling apart, while the world continued to collide against his strongholds. Even pillars crumbled. Even towers fell. And he’d been struggling, striving, to build those fortifications once more, marble and columns, block after block, and some days were significantly better than others.
The smile faded though, when asked about where he’d been, how he’d been, and all the struggling instances of not dashing away into dust, bone, and ash began to sear against him. “Halo. I wandered there when I was sick.” When his mind was broken and his body rebelled, and he had naught left here – wondering if he’d sent himself to perish in the snow, if memories had served to rid him of his suffering in the only way it could’ve recalled. “The Warden and Chulane found me. So I stayed on as General.” Simplistic versions, but she didn’t need to hear about the long, slow recovery, the way the healing water had kept him alive and partially whole until lilies were found, placed, and monsters were fought. “I…” He struggled for a second, the words fading on his tongue, tucked behind his teeth, yearning to amass a wall of indifference, to forgo the fractures of experience. “Not well. But I am getting better.” The slightest of grins returned, but only so he could look down upon her in his arms and not crumble back into nothing. “What about you?”
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
