thousand different places

DEIMOS

ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood

They had pinpointed the one and same weaker point in the herd – the cow, impacted by some other moment in her life, with her twisted denizens. He watched for a few moments more, mind reeling, curling, coiling, more machinations, deriving into the strategies, the possibilities of how they could conquer the much larger animal. “We have some options.” His voice only lingered between the rock and snow, intentionally hushed, as he’d been throughout his lifetimes, pressed either into shadow, predator inclinations, or merely pernicious onslaughts. “We can do as you say, and I can drive her towards you, or vice versa.” His array of shifts and experience with weaponry, with the amount clustered and attached to his form, could provide some level of terror and swift precision; what he always intended when hunting. These weren’t adversaries. They had no need to suffer in torment, in pain, in agony.

His gaze pinpointed back to the chosen prey, still examining, pondering over factions, abilities, harbored and harpooning through both of them. Zuriel, to give her credit, muffled a snort. “Or magic.” A shrug of his shoulders, of the capabilities lodged within; the life drain that could make quick, lingering efforts, but take away all amusing proportions of a hunt. "What would you prefer?" The Sword had no inclination through either - and maintained, manifested the inquiry to ensure Sah was comfortable and confident in the potential array and fray.

watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same