I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Something sharpened in the depths of his spine; notching, curling around his ribcage. Anger, irritation, exasperation – probably a combination of those lines, of those emotions, yearning to reach out and grapple with his features. What Sah would see was a systematic reflection of furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, arms remaining folded, a visible lock to his jaw, clenching, unclenching. As if he’d crawl his way back to the mountains and bow his head towards Morgan and Neron. As if he’d cower and plead and beg. A rumble began in his tones, carefully, intricately calm, even if the rest of his was possessed by a restless indignation. “Morgan is not neutral. She can claim that all she wants, but we know better. It is a farce.” A lie. A falsehood. A banner she waved but didn’t even try to utilize correctly. “She attacked her own people, Sah.” All for power.
The crows persisted, pervaded, until the armor kept them at bay. Not entirely stupid, they cawed and sank more outcries, more bellows, but Deimos could ignore them. He took a breath, steadying himself, etching along the corners of his mind not to launch, not to sneer, not to raise any hackles; but Sah had overstepped, had proclaimed so many things within an instant that the conflictions all leapt and seared.
The other Abandoned was bold – perhaps too much so – and woefully ignorant. “And who are you to say Noah should not come back to his own land?” A place where he’d lived and breathed, hunted and roamed, protected and guarded? “How long have you lived there? How can you make those judgments and calls?” The Sword would never be presumptuous enough – had known his standing as an Outlander since the very beginning, and stared hard at his friend. “I have seen the reach of the Voice and what she can do. And I would never wish it on anyone. You have experienced some now too.” His head shook, fighting over the tides of the political machinations, the calculations, the potential barring of a person who had every right to want his home back. Or the argument that the Voice still required her touches and fringes amongst the mountains - when they'd just fought a monster. “War is coming, regardless.” And people needed to stop putting their heads in the sand, in the dirt, in the muck and mire, and cease pretending. Not when it was the gods’ will. A pause, one more collective stoking of the fire in his lungs. “And what is Morgan going to do to prepare Halo for it?”
The crows persisted, pervaded, until the armor kept them at bay. Not entirely stupid, they cawed and sank more outcries, more bellows, but Deimos could ignore them. He took a breath, steadying himself, etching along the corners of his mind not to launch, not to sneer, not to raise any hackles; but Sah had overstepped, had proclaimed so many things within an instant that the conflictions all leapt and seared.
The other Abandoned was bold – perhaps too much so – and woefully ignorant. “And who are you to say Noah should not come back to his own land?” A place where he’d lived and breathed, hunted and roamed, protected and guarded? “How long have you lived there? How can you make those judgments and calls?” The Sword would never be presumptuous enough – had known his standing as an Outlander since the very beginning, and stared hard at his friend. “I have seen the reach of the Voice and what she can do. And I would never wish it on anyone. You have experienced some now too.” His head shook, fighting over the tides of the political machinations, the calculations, the potential barring of a person who had every right to want his home back. Or the argument that the Voice still required her touches and fringes amongst the mountains - when they'd just fought a monster. “War is coming, regardless.” And people needed to stop putting their heads in the sand, in the dirt, in the muck and mire, and cease pretending. Not when it was the gods’ will. A pause, one more collective stoking of the fire in his lungs. “And what is Morgan going to do to prepare Halo for it?”
DEIMOS
