DEIMOS
The eagle followed suit on his previous motions, leaving the dead bird with its dispatched brethren, before a flap of his wings, hastening off to another portion of ramparts and fortifications. To watch, to bear witness, to calculate which were weakest, dimmest, or youngest; easy to bear down, pick apart, and render survival of the fittest mentality. Except, of course, he was distracted by whatever was happening with the badger and his flock.It seemed the ningos had begun a siege of their own upon Loren, pecking, battering, an irritating volley that meant they’d had enough. Deimos was sorely tempted to merely be a member of the audience for a moment, because in some part it was entertaining and amusing. Except Loren was here to help him, not provide him with mirth amidst a foolish struggle.
So he unfurled once more, plunging downward, silent, deadly, precise, talons snagging again, intending to take one of the birds by surprise – snaring at it without a moment’s hesitation, listening to its heedless, indignant squawk, before the crush of ribs, bones, spines, and neck rendered the particular prey hushed for eternity.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
