DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Part of the problem was that a majority of his actions and vehemence were habitual, routine, and amusing for him. While others might have considered them ‘hard work’, he simply didn’t - endurance and fortitude labored deep in his bones, formulated in strength and accord. Training with some assemblage of weaponry every day was inherent, engrained, and even if it was honing in different muscles, different accord, he enjoyed it. Or pummeling friends in the head with snowballs. Or something curled along the lines of mischief.
In the end, he settled for glancing upwards, where he could see the climbing threshold over the rest of the stony ramparts. “Drinks on the wall it is.” And with an encouraging smirk, he hastened the rest of the shoveling duty to his incantations – quick and efficient as the snow was swept away on earth and air – and placed the tool against the side of the barrack building. “Come on.”
Opening the door to the front parlor, and allowing her to step within the threshold before shutting it, he immediately meandered over to the amount of cabinets by the war table. Most of the day’s sessions had ended, and as the afternoon crawled on, the sounds of steel quieted; guards hastening off to commit to the rest of their duties, or finished in their inclinations and exercises for that interval.
The Sword listened all the while as he gathered the necessities, picking up two glasses and placing them along the counter, and thereafter searching for the right liquor. He hadn’t known about Aisha’s meeting with Safrin, slid the intrigue over the arch of his brow again, the modest tip of his head. “Oh? And how did that go?” The goddess had all her angles, all her persuasions, all her tactics, and all her generosity too. A complex herald. The beast snorted at the other insinuation though. “It was not intentional. I went to see if there was something I could do in regards to the Voice.” In destruction. In ceasing and desisting with the sicknesses, with the suffering, with all the other calamities choking and suffocating, maligning and pressing within the ominous wakes on the horizon. “And instead she told me I had to talk to people,” a shudder went through his shoulders, as if it was the most horrifying aspect of his life. “And stop blaming myself for things out of my control.” Burden after burden; not his to carry or to hold. Amidst a multitude of other facets and factions, each one of them sticking to his ribs, to his mind, to his soul, as he strived to persevere and counter-act all the damage he'd done to his own entity.
In the end, he settled for glancing upwards, where he could see the climbing threshold over the rest of the stony ramparts. “Drinks on the wall it is.” And with an encouraging smirk, he hastened the rest of the shoveling duty to his incantations – quick and efficient as the snow was swept away on earth and air – and placed the tool against the side of the barrack building. “Come on.”
Opening the door to the front parlor, and allowing her to step within the threshold before shutting it, he immediately meandered over to the amount of cabinets by the war table. Most of the day’s sessions had ended, and as the afternoon crawled on, the sounds of steel quieted; guards hastening off to commit to the rest of their duties, or finished in their inclinations and exercises for that interval.
The Sword listened all the while as he gathered the necessities, picking up two glasses and placing them along the counter, and thereafter searching for the right liquor. He hadn’t known about Aisha’s meeting with Safrin, slid the intrigue over the arch of his brow again, the modest tip of his head. “Oh? And how did that go?” The goddess had all her angles, all her persuasions, all her tactics, and all her generosity too. A complex herald. The beast snorted at the other insinuation though. “It was not intentional. I went to see if there was something I could do in regards to the Voice.” In destruction. In ceasing and desisting with the sicknesses, with the suffering, with all the other calamities choking and suffocating, maligning and pressing within the ominous wakes on the horizon. “And instead she told me I had to talk to people,” a shudder went through his shoulders, as if it was the most horrifying aspect of his life. “And stop blaming myself for things out of my control.” Burden after burden; not his to carry or to hold. Amidst a multitude of other facets and factions, each one of them sticking to his ribs, to his mind, to his soul, as he strived to persevere and counter-act all the damage he'd done to his own entity.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
