I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Steering them around the outer embankment of the swamp, and casting his gaze on Belial’s antics from time to time, he tilted his head in listening junctures towards Sah. A light rumble, maybe a snort, perhaps the hint of a laugh managed to layer through his lungs at the first response. And though the monolith greatly missed the characters of Halo, the stretches and reaches of being able to help and support a land he felt intricately tied to, he strived not to show it. “We can test that out later,” and he arched a brow, a boyish wrinkle to his nose, contemplating lightning efforts.
Just probably not near the water.
While Zuriel nibbled on nearby plant life, pulling at a few weeds, his gaze was an examining, scrutinizing one, over the gnarled trees and murky bombardments – the liquid purposefully furtive. “Oh? Who has been giving you trouble?” Stories of those he’d cherished and protected, of those he’d watched over, might lessen all the blows.
At the inclination of swamps – the Sword pondered over the constituents of past lives and all the preamble of lands. They’d had their own version in Helovia, but more of a catacomb proportion. Not that this wasn’t – but he’d yet to see any bones jutting out or left to bleach along outer banks. “We came here last year, to bring the Mathair back to the Greatwood.” He rolled his shoulders – gazing out over any pieces that might be familiar. But they’d clearly wandered off a branch of the Feverlands he hadn’t been accustomed to in the brief and chaotic escapade.
Just probably not near the water.
While Zuriel nibbled on nearby plant life, pulling at a few weeds, his gaze was an examining, scrutinizing one, over the gnarled trees and murky bombardments – the liquid purposefully furtive. “Oh? Who has been giving you trouble?” Stories of those he’d cherished and protected, of those he’d watched over, might lessen all the blows.
At the inclination of swamps – the Sword pondered over the constituents of past lives and all the preamble of lands. They’d had their own version in Helovia, but more of a catacomb proportion. Not that this wasn’t – but he’d yet to see any bones jutting out or left to bleach along outer banks. “We came here last year, to bring the Mathair back to the Greatwood.” He rolled his shoulders – gazing out over any pieces that might be familiar. But they’d clearly wandered off a branch of the Feverlands he hadn’t been accustomed to in the brief and chaotic escapade.
DEIMOS
