DEIMOS
Outside of the Citadel, amidst the roaring winds and the plains of ivory, were the only places Deimos found comfort and peace in now. A salvation without prying eyes, a shelter, a sanctuary, made of cold and stillness, where the familiarity of glacial expanses blended into his blood. Here, his shoulders weren’t heavy and his head wasn’t bowed, features turned to the snow, to the ice, to the rime, with semblances of pride. No curious stares, no explanations rendered, no gazes downward upon stone streets or market squares, no spars tucked in corners. He didn’t have to wear his shame in the frigid whims, in the tempestuous eaves, in the glory of beauty and power, majesty and might.He hadn’t gone to the ceremonial wakes for Frey, to witness the greenhouse come to life. The Sword hadn’t found himself welcome or worthy, and instead, dragged his sled across the region, followed closely by Zuriel, and Belial in the skies above. Hunting would put him at ease too, where it was naught but tactical extremes, potency, and prowess, to ensure the balance in the earth – except he’d also managed to convince Sah to tag along as well. “Last time I saw an ursur, it was over there,” and he nodded, pointing, to the man behind him, along the echoes of the contorting, desolate wind – turning his face into the breeze, a part of its dominion. Where he and Aisha had battled the beast over the knoll.
If anything, they’d be able to come home with fresh meat and furs, and Sah could relish a little more experience under his belt. An arch to his brow indicated fervency, but only when the Abandoned was ready.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
