[se] where we tread

DEIMOS

the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness

His brow arched as he listened about the bouts of a family tradition – restless children mildly bullied by their parents (relatable) - youths encouraged to inhale fire in the form of food. Blinking more than once, because the reign of judgement almost curled over his tongue, but then he could recall a number of other moments in his own childhood that were likely just as ridiculous – so he settled for another snort and a distinct rumble. “What did you win?”

Deimos wasn’t surprised Talyson didn’t know where his Outlander prowess reigned from. While the Sword didn’t make it a secret, he also didn’t freely share it with every single person he encountered. One of his own traditions, to be furtive and walled off in precise measures. “Isilme first. Born beside the sea, in a place called Moonlit Tides.” His eyes lifted, studying the greenhouse around them, but memories churning elsewhere; of sand beneath bare feet and a constant lunar beam, the sound of reckless spirits echoing down the lanes of dunes and beach. His shoulders shrugged, mouth tugging into a modest smile, already knowing the next sentence to sound foolish. “We used to see how many gulls we could catch.”

for the space they take
and so, neither shall I