DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
With Noah tending to news in Torchline, Deimos spent the next few hours wandering, exploring, deeper into thickets he’d yet to reach. Hailing a temporary return to King’s End could’ve been in between his talons and plumage, but the crashing serenade of water, of a chance in tranquility, spurred him through ferns and greenery. Sometimes the brush enveloped his massive form, so he was hidden and tucked away, and the world wasn’t watching, waiting, for another iniquitous or stupefying plunge from his motions. Sometimes the grey fur caught the edges of sunlight, and they blurred together in streamlines of silver and gold, and he wasn’t immersed in the lines of failure.
Onwards, upwards, moving forward because there was no way back to the past, and if he slid into its roots and nettles, the thorns would stick into his ribs and there’d be no way out again.
His tiger gaze eventually caught the figments of ivory rising into the midst – mist and falls, what undoubtedly led and fed the lake he’d presided within some seasons before. But now he was on top of its landscape, tail flickering over the sticks and stones, limbs rising, coiling, before he bunched the muscles and sinew together to leap along a series of boulders lining the edge. And sat there, lost for a moment, like a great behemoth, piercing eyes gazing over the surroundings, and thoughts eventually turning, churning, over what more could be done before the snow arrived, and the frost settled.
Onwards, upwards, moving forward because there was no way back to the past, and if he slid into its roots and nettles, the thorns would stick into his ribs and there’d be no way out again.
His tiger gaze eventually caught the figments of ivory rising into the midst – mist and falls, what undoubtedly led and fed the lake he’d presided within some seasons before. But now he was on top of its landscape, tail flickering over the sticks and stones, limbs rising, coiling, before he bunched the muscles and sinew together to leap along a series of boulders lining the edge. And sat there, lost for a moment, like a great behemoth, piercing eyes gazing over the surroundings, and thoughts eventually turning, churning, over what more could be done before the snow arrived, and the frost settled.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
