I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Had Noah asked, Deimos wouldn’t have judged along the parameters of deities – not from his standpoint, which had only been altered after his arrival to Caido. His disposition towards the primordial, celestial beings amidst Isilme, where they machinated hate and craved war, and Helovia, where they were either absent, indifferent, or manipulative, varied here, but only after experience after experience. And even then, he was relatively hesitant, asking for information, or for assistance in things he otherwise couldn’t do himself. Perhaps it was due to the Abandoned blood in his veins, beyond his control and nothing he shunned, hid, or found shameful; he utilized the ichor, the pulsing, pervading tactics to protect, shield, and ensure others were out of harm’s way. If he was going to weighed differently because of how he was born, he wouldn’t carry the same prejudice into this venue, this realm, this timeframe.
But instead the silence flickered and lingered on, and the beast waited for some signal, some sign, uncertain of how these offerings filtered into the hierarchy of things. Waiting, perhaps, as nature intended, kneeling there before the shrine, embedded and infused with the cold, content in the chill. He managed to incline his head, a slight tilt that could’ve been inherently feline or merely predacious, a raptorial scrutiny, towards the quiet, hushed companion, and for once he found himself needing to push words into the range. The semblance almost made him laugh.
Rather than break apart the stillness though, he aligned it towards the attuned bond – his eyes circumventing back to the ground, to the snow, pulsing a wave of gratitude, an air of appreciation and recognition for the other man’s efforts. Thank you again for helping me when I was ill. For it might’ve been just as easy to ignore him, there, inclined on a sick bed, completely out of his mind.
But instead the silence flickered and lingered on, and the beast waited for some signal, some sign, uncertain of how these offerings filtered into the hierarchy of things. Waiting, perhaps, as nature intended, kneeling there before the shrine, embedded and infused with the cold, content in the chill. He managed to incline his head, a slight tilt that could’ve been inherently feline or merely predacious, a raptorial scrutiny, towards the quiet, hushed companion, and for once he found himself needing to push words into the range. The semblance almost made him laugh.
Rather than break apart the stillness though, he aligned it towards the attuned bond – his eyes circumventing back to the ground, to the snow, pulsing a wave of gratitude, an air of appreciation and recognition for the other man’s efforts. Thank you again for helping me when I was ill. For it might’ve been just as easy to ignore him, there, inclined on a sick bed, completely out of his mind.
DEIMOS
