Serenity

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts He was stone and marble, conviction and resolution, catching movement and motion ahead, pale, alabaster flickers of plumage and dominion; a lengthy beak, heron gone to the marsh for one last feeding. It might have proven to be a decent meal, something he could cook up and savor for later – drawing upon his instinct, upon the eldritch inclinations in his blood, a lifeline, enriched ichor with the denizen of upheaval, disregard for life. He considered stunning it, or running it through with a dagger if he was quick enough, its stealthy, quick, long legs made and hastened to evade and escape – his brow furrowed, more minatory steps presiding, brain urging him onward, faster, faster, before it could hear him, before it could see him coming. The voice of another snagged on the grass, and the heron, sensing danger, immediately took flight. On an air of savage, bestial frustration, he rose in silence, tower and monolith again, gaze lifted to the sky to watch the potential meal vanish into the horizon. Then he turned, shifted, a reticent, nonchalant veneer, wretched façade, broadening across his features – betraying nothing, not exasperation for the things he’d lost time and time and time again, not ire, wretched and pulsing along his limbs, and not disappointment, for an opportunity squandered. He was his old self again in the face and loom of a stranger: detached, icy, a chilling void grappling over his foundation. He gave naught, naught, naught, blank gaze matching blank gaze, maneuvering his way along the grass again, considering ignoring her entirely, but with the presence of mind to give a simple answer as he proceeded further away. “I have a dagger.” He raised it above his head, gold and glinting, proffering and permitting weaponry only, before lowering it, back into his palms, hidden and tucked, sliding along the embankment, the game scared away already by the clamor of voices, the chances lost. Why it mattered to her was beyond his reasoning; not a beast intending to pry. the last of a line of lasts