DEIMOS
One moment his sharpened gaze had turned towards scurrying prey in fields of grass, and the next spun and vanished, spiraling into the soft trickling of water, the humid canopies – I think I know where we are. It was a bewildering sensation though, semblances of other worlds blending and binding together, and the apprehensive endeavors curled back into the midst of his throat. Chaos made him calculate. Confusion made him all the more readily apparent and conformed to measures, to Machiavellian designations. So he ceased mid-air, catching his breath, landing along an elongated branch for survey, for observation, for striving to understand.
How had it happened? One instance they were staring and launching off of rock towers, and the next, melded and molded into something else altogether. Not unlike a portal, but those were always planned. Walked within. Seen. Heard. Known. Even when he and Kiada had been thrown into a book, there’d been a reason – the tome itself.
This, to his knowledge, hadn’t been prompted by anything.
And he could have his suspicions – the Voice, in particular, but with nothing else to go off of, he folded his wings, talons gripping hard into the wood. His stare took in Aisha, the stream, the wake of everything else colliding inward; the bright hues and elongated ferns, fronds, was a familiar recollection. We might be near Torchline. If it was the same jungle atmosphere he’d briefly explored with Aurelia.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
