DEIMOS
A brief sojourn, a sidestep, once they’d meandered through portals. Back into the outskirts of King’s End, enticed by the endless barrage of curiosity and intrigue nestled into the unknown fixtures, into the bones, into the figments, of a world that had been so close, yet so far. And not because of anything in particular, but everything all at once. Histories damned and due to repeat. An awakening, a reopening, of worlds once left to their own devices, carrying upon plains and plains of barrows and graves, catacombs breaching and branching into naught but endless calm and serenity.Did they have any meaning? Or was he trying to search for something to grasp, some aspects of understanding, that might not have ever been there in the first place?
The Sword reached out on plumage, while his companions gathered below. Belial, normally content to follow on the whisper and flicker of wings, had been completely distracted by the moushrooms chittering and chattering, and Zuriel was far too dignified to saunter beyond the stretch of the eagle’s shadow. So he was alone in the winds, content to rise above and stare, to take the whole world in again – on different angles, on persistent liberations and freedoms, on an act of deliverance that might be disappearing into the midst.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
