Deimos
Moments; they would have instances sparsely thrown and hastened out into the world, in between good days, bad days, political leanings, outreaches to turn into nothing, cataclysms vanquished in the snow, insurrections brewing outside walls. And he’d been told so many times over to take what he could, to leave aside the vehement potential, to not sink into the traps and snares of machinations, to place things for another day, another time, another place. To savor what they already had.
So he took a calm evening, where the frigid wind wasn’t too sharp, when the soldiers had been sent home, or to their designated duties of guarding the walls – not to rehash events. Not to brim and brood. Not to gnash their teeth into pieces and frustrations. Sentiments of amusements instead, what they already had so little of.
He’d already taken one of the braziers and elongated it into a brilliant fire, settling it in the middle of chairs. The Valkyrie’s had been granted pillows and blankets for her comfort; the Sword didn’t much care, and was content with his furs out in the middle of the training grounds – beneath stars and snow and the knoll of his climbing wall that still remained. A gathering of food had been stored beside each seat too; marshmallows, chocolate, crackers, intentions of s’mores with long metal tines instead of sticks; merely waiting until the appropriate time, winding along the intervals of snow. His companions were strewn about, Zuriel picking through pieces of wildlife managing to burst through frigidity, Belial launching from the walls and gliding downwards. The General himself close to the flames, permitted this idle ease for however long they could grasp it.
So he took a calm evening, where the frigid wind wasn’t too sharp, when the soldiers had been sent home, or to their designated duties of guarding the walls – not to rehash events. Not to brim and brood. Not to gnash their teeth into pieces and frustrations. Sentiments of amusements instead, what they already had so little of.
He’d already taken one of the braziers and elongated it into a brilliant fire, settling it in the middle of chairs. The Valkyrie’s had been granted pillows and blankets for her comfort; the Sword didn’t much care, and was content with his furs out in the middle of the training grounds – beneath stars and snow and the knoll of his climbing wall that still remained. A gathering of food had been stored beside each seat too; marshmallows, chocolate, crackers, intentions of s’mores with long metal tines instead of sticks; merely waiting until the appropriate time, winding along the intervals of snow. His companions were strewn about, Zuriel picking through pieces of wildlife managing to burst through frigidity, Belial launching from the walls and gliding downwards. The General himself close to the flames, permitted this idle ease for however long they could grasp it.
i rule the stars, not the other way around
