fine in the fire

Deimos He’d always been an observer, a witness, an studious, meticulous inhabitant of any world. Most of the wiles were used for calculating purposes, a ruse here, a snare there, the ability to trap and ensconce someone due to their own flaws or defects. In the silence, in the softness, he noted a frown work its way into her face, causing him to grow taut and rigid, ramrod straight so there wasn’t a ripple or juncture in his spine. His eyes glanced at the fading glow of her fingers, at the still bright, blistering fire scorched and marked on his shoulder – as if nothing had happened, no healing, no soothing, no assuaging. The beast’s brows furrowed, curious: this sort of situation hadn’t occurred in Helovia, not when he’d returned from battle after battle, soaking his sore muscles in the hot springs or being tended to by the Time Menders, watching flayed open seams cast back into strands of perfected flesh again, with a few more scars riddled and rippled in their stead. He’d never been much worse for wear there – and on the battlefield alongside comrades and compatriots in Isilme, there’d been no time for piercing and piecing together lacerations and broken things; stitched up in a tent and sent back out into the slaughter if they could move on their own two feet. Her question hung there, in the air, a balanced counterpoint. Perhaps something was awry here, invocations mixing against other enchantments, sizzling and smoldering, canceling one another out. “Yes,” his voice rumbled, gaze swinging back to hers. “Life drain and creation.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime