[Training] against the tide

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts There was a telltale mischief corresponding and traversing along the air, he felt its sting and devilish consternations, arched his brow and supplied his own sensation of audacity, the boldness shaping and shifting its way through his form – tidal waves and mercurial, tempestuous demons. “Perhaps, once we have trained more, we should see.” He wondered what it would take to stop him – if the elementals would ripple and scorch his figure all over again, if they would try to drown him in their wakes, if they would unfurl the careful stitches and seams, if they would pry him apart, piece by piece, shard by shard. It was a vow and declaration too, for the resurrected being to come and find his bestial form and they could test the world when they were potent and powerful enough to dare and conquer its movements, its motions. The Reaper smirked too, tangled in the river, tempted by the current. As a last volley, he roamed out further again; the undulations of his core, of his strength, pulsed in his persistence, but certainly warned; solidified efforts would be rewarded on a gradual pace, not full steam ahead. He knew better, so he only lingered in those brief steads, not gliding as far out, not stretching himself to maximum capacity. It took a few more turns and swivels of his arms, hastening them to twist and revolve, until the itch and pull of aches, of omens, caused him to cease the chase. The warrior was breathless again, lungs, sides, and ribs heaving, but in a good modicum, the way one finished in battle, still alive, still whole, still standing. His head twisted back to Ronin, who admitted he was done for the day too, and he nodded, completely understanding the notion. It would have to be another day, another series of moments, before he was back to full fruition and strength. “You are welcome. Thank you for the invitation.” It’d been what he needed; and he inhaled, exhaled again, leaned against outcrops and eyed the embankment calling his name. “Find me if you wish to train again,” he offered, an extension of hospitality and beneficence that these residents always seemed to prosper upon him, even when he didn’t deserve any of their compassion or generosity. the last of a line of lasts