DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Through tenacity, through pain, through the mayhem, he held on; jaw locked tight over the ursur, unwilling to cease and desist. Heavy and brutal, there was nowhere for the bear to go with the tiger tied along its expanse, the weakening vibes brimming something else in the back of the Sword’s mind. Aisha committed to her task, and the teamwork provided, presided, in the slow, illustrious wake of the ursur succumbing to injury after injury, bloodletting after bloodletting, the pool of it beneath his feet when he finally drifted down.
The satisfaction was there – immersed in between the heaving breaths, his sides incapable of anything else while his frame winced, while the contentment seethed amidst the agony. His eyes went to the bear several times over, perhaps disbelieving at their luck, their skill, or that the rest had gone so fluidly. Were he not in significant onslaughts from the gash along his side, he might’ve done something other than snort in response, but it was all he could manage for the moment. Let me get healed he offered, extended, and then we can figure out how to get it home.
A prominent limp coiled through his movements, irritating, annoying, as he slowly drifted down the ridge they’ve previously crawled up – ducking his head so he didn’t have to see Zuriel’s incredulous look, some stirring of a lecture in her narrowed, pinpointed gaze. When he finally reached the unicorn, for she seemed inclined to witness him suffer a few more paces towards her, she snorted and seethed, and he could simply stand there and sigh. The beast was ashamed too. He should’ve been better.
But then he was tended to, the bending of her head, the touch of her horn over wounds, over lacerations, sealed the searing hide. Tissue and sinew formed back together, as if they’d never been apart (several times over now, if he recollected injuries); and with another heaving sigh, she permitted him to go right back up the low mountainside.
The satisfaction was there – immersed in between the heaving breaths, his sides incapable of anything else while his frame winced, while the contentment seethed amidst the agony. His eyes went to the bear several times over, perhaps disbelieving at their luck, their skill, or that the rest had gone so fluidly. Were he not in significant onslaughts from the gash along his side, he might’ve done something other than snort in response, but it was all he could manage for the moment. Let me get healed he offered, extended, and then we can figure out how to get it home.
A prominent limp coiled through his movements, irritating, annoying, as he slowly drifted down the ridge they’ve previously crawled up – ducking his head so he didn’t have to see Zuriel’s incredulous look, some stirring of a lecture in her narrowed, pinpointed gaze. When he finally reached the unicorn, for she seemed inclined to witness him suffer a few more paces towards her, she snorted and seethed, and he could simply stand there and sigh. The beast was ashamed too. He should’ve been better.
But then he was tended to, the bending of her head, the touch of her horn over wounds, over lacerations, sealed the searing hide. Tissue and sinew formed back together, as if they’d never been apart (several times over now, if he recollected injuries); and with another heaving sigh, she permitted him to go right back up the low mountainside.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
