I carried my own ashes to the mountains
While he listened, the beast adjusted the rest of the belongings and pack along Zuriel’s back, and then left her alone – no need to hold reins, no need to grasp and tether her to himself, full trust and instinct honed, built, within their bond.
But Noah’s admittance made him realize that there wasn’t much difference in between humans and prey. Didn’t they all still feel fear? Didn’t they cluster in apprehension, in trepidation, when the world tossed and turned, when their loved ones weren’t safe? There were more influential impacts, and they were capable of beleaguering the tides, but all of those senses still remained firmly entrenched in their beings. Even the Sword held misgivings and disquiet from time to time, lodged along his chest – concern for those he cherished being ripped apart again. Maybe it was the amount of possibilities and parameters conjured between – and where humans could holster some amount of logic into their movements, animals clung to those impulsive, impetuous designs; hardwired to fight or flee.
He tilted his head a fraction, resuming their walk through the fertile fields, eyes scanning the stretch of green – unburdened, unabashed, in its compelling landscape. “So perhaps it is a blessing that you have both. You know exactly what each one feels.” The Sword would likely never be able to conjure such a sentiment – not when he’d spent so many lives churning his way through demolition and deceit, power and precision, sometimes solely there to ensure destruction. “That neither it is to be taken for granted.” And perhaps far more connected than the majority of them.
But Noah’s admittance made him realize that there wasn’t much difference in between humans and prey. Didn’t they all still feel fear? Didn’t they cluster in apprehension, in trepidation, when the world tossed and turned, when their loved ones weren’t safe? There were more influential impacts, and they were capable of beleaguering the tides, but all of those senses still remained firmly entrenched in their beings. Even the Sword held misgivings and disquiet from time to time, lodged along his chest – concern for those he cherished being ripped apart again. Maybe it was the amount of possibilities and parameters conjured between – and where humans could holster some amount of logic into their movements, animals clung to those impulsive, impetuous designs; hardwired to fight or flee.
He tilted his head a fraction, resuming their walk through the fertile fields, eyes scanning the stretch of green – unburdened, unabashed, in its compelling landscape. “So perhaps it is a blessing that you have both. You know exactly what each one feels.” The Sword would likely never be able to conjure such a sentiment – not when he’d spent so many lives churning his way through demolition and deceit, power and precision, sometimes solely there to ensure destruction. “That neither it is to be taken for granted.” And perhaps far more connected than the majority of them.
DEIMOS
