DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Zuriel leaned into Aisha’s light touch in appreciation, while the Sword surveyed the grounds they emerged themselves in, this time voluntarily. Birds were an option, and likely plentiful in the undergrowth. A suggestion flickered to his mouth, rallying through the ferns, leaves, and fronds. “Belial would probably enjoy flushing them out.” With the deer’s bizarre contempt for other flying animals; especially fowl – whether it was some form of jealousy, or plain wrath conformed to the young deer, Deimos remained uncertain in regards to pressing it. The peryton’s inclinations had been helpful in regards to hunting and defending; so perhaps it was best not to scorn the predilections away.
But they’d walked and walked, and neither bonded had signaled or become alarmed. His own Attuned senses had shifted and found nothing in particular – brows furrowed in the humid haze, slightly irritated and irked by the lack of fundamental prey. So he swung his head and arched a brow at Aisha’s expense; uncertain if the question was a jibe in his direction (since he tended to loathe or avoid any form of a break unless forced).
Then he saw the mischief and pondered further; the rise of a slight smile beginning to manifest. “What would you prefer instead?”
But they’d walked and walked, and neither bonded had signaled or become alarmed. His own Attuned senses had shifted and found nothing in particular – brows furrowed in the humid haze, slightly irritated and irked by the lack of fundamental prey. So he swung his head and arched a brow at Aisha’s expense; uncertain if the question was a jibe in his direction (since he tended to loathe or avoid any form of a break unless forced).
Then he saw the mischief and pondered further; the rise of a slight smile beginning to manifest. “What would you prefer instead?”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
