D E I M O S
Perhaps he should’ve just accepted it and moved on, stuck his head in the dirt and admitted he didn’t understand, that this was the way things were, and animals here persisted in intelligent, insightful, perspective realms. But that had never been his way, his method, or his madness; accepting was one thing, but giving in was out of the question. He was made of obstinance, tenacity, and might, capable of fighting back tooth and nail, incapable of yielding, relinquishing, or surrendering – the truth was there, in his sights, in the unfurling strands of perception. He required more time, more information; he narrowed his eyes again and watched the leopard work their way through the soil with vivid ardency, shaking his head in incertitude.
The warrior’s hands returned to his own work, calloused and rough, coarse from years of swordplay, where the pommel met his palm and sang, of weaponry, of adhering to dominion, power, and precision. It wasn’t a harsh sacrifice – he’d never be one to grow into softness; all muscle, all brawn, all influence. When his hole was adequate, deep enough for the shrub to take root all over again, he turned to find the great cat there, beside him again, silent and grinning (it was otherworldly and ethereal, and he didn’t know how to react to it except widened eyes once more). Given more time, he snorted in response, casting an indulgent eye-roll, before reaching out to scratch its ears, as he always did with Auni whenever the luxere approached, passing by and then grabbing hold of the last two lavender bushes.
He lowered the first into the leopard’s, where talons had made quick work of the loam, placing the plant along its threshold, then shifting the dirt back over the top of the roots, the abrupt reach of the stem. With any luck, they’d hold and find their way again, settling into the ground to become a nourishing source and substance of the baker and her wares. Deimos did the same to the other, adjusting leaves and branches accordingly, the scent of it all curling its way into his senses; calming, assuaging, soothing. Thereafter, he brushed his hands together, flicked off some of the soil from his fingertips, and glanced back down at the beast, offering the slightest glimmer of mischief. “Our secret,” he whispered, pointing to the shrubs and then back between the two of them. There was no need for recognition, honor bestowed or fostered on his behalf, content to repay kindness with kindness, favors with favors. Perhaps she’d find it a suitable surprise.
He wasn’t quite finished, however, and went back to the sled containing the rest of his supplies, taking off another piece of partridge meat for the leopard. He tossed it towards where the animal was stretched out, then wrapped up the remains, storing and packing it away in the rest of the ice and snow laden nearby. After though, he hesitated, not quite sure how to say goodbye, so he angled his stare elsewhere and proffered a little wave, then dragged his sled to the front of the house, where he could place the meat along the front step. On a furtive edge, no note, naught else given, he left the same way he’d arrived.
