DEIMOS
Deimos might have portrayed cool, cold indifference, but the bond would paint different aspects; consternation, calculation, and the residual trepidation burrowed down in between his ribs. They always had to be on the lookout for something, and perhaps that was the weight of the unease pressed and withered down into his presence. Because while some were mere monsters with no clear distinction except animalistic means, others were demons of the human distinction, and far, far more cunning. The waiting and seeing game was not new to him, but a frustrating strategy – eternally uncertain which road or pathway to take, when the notions seemed so unclear, murky, shrouded, and veiled. Their isolation meant safety for the moment, but they also didn’t have the means or measures of obtaining new information. Stuck, within their icy walls. Make no mistake, he had no intention of letting the Order have Kiada either – the monolith simply didn’t know how or where to construct the machinations next. So his piercing eyes wandered back to the horizon, to the tree down below them, clutched in talons, wreathed in charms they may not be able to have, hold, and cherish for much longer.
He shook his noble eagle crown however at the next inquiries. I do not know. I am not aware of any revealing themselves here. Not with Morgan’s notice nailed to the boards, to any passers-by, to anyone yearning or craving information. Their whereabouts were furtive, and given their objectives, the Sword could understand it. How many times had he sent out his own, as the Reaper, to snag at details and scruples, without revealing sources? Not an easy game to play, but something an individual adapted to. If the beast had shoulders in this form, he would’ve shrugged, the air of frustration palpable. I am ignorant of that too. Bare, minimal things and nuances. Warning signals and fires, without anything else in the midst.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
