DEIMOS
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
As he worked along the rocks, back and forth, back and forth, consistency and strength despite the ongoing measures, and he didn’t notice his rope hadn’t been taken until he came down off the diminishing towers of rocks and noticed the artifact still on the ground. His brow arched, uncertain as to why they wouldn’t have grabbed it, anchored it along, ensuring they could get back without making their tribulations that much tougher; narrowing his eyes as Ronin noticed too, adhering to the task on his own, tying the strands to a stake and racing off to grab the rest. The beast shook his head, a rise of ire and vexation because now they were wasting time tracking down individuals who surely could’ve managed hanging onto a line on their own – but stewing in his silence, he continued his efforts until they’d all returned.
And still, no Emmett behind the carved away wall of rubble.
At least, upon the next day, the rope was back into play, Ronin’s warning of keep together in his ears, maneuvering forward with the rest at the branch off of the underground.
A sense of unease had gathered its way back into his mind: because wouldn’t the boy have screamed by now? Wouldn’t he have unleashed some sort of outcry, hoping to be rescued and liberated? The patchwork of silence threading its way through the warren was telling; but he wasn’t going to be the one to voice it. Perhaps the youth was merely lost, deeper and deeper, where no one could hear his torrents and tempests – and they’d find him, no worse for wear.
And still, no Emmett behind the carved away wall of rubble.
At least, upon the next day, the rope was back into play, Ronin’s warning of keep together in his ears, maneuvering forward with the rest at the branch off of the underground.
A sense of unease had gathered its way back into his mind: because wouldn’t the boy have screamed by now? Wouldn’t he have unleashed some sort of outcry, hoping to be rescued and liberated? The patchwork of silence threading its way through the warren was telling; but he wasn’t going to be the one to voice it. Perhaps the youth was merely lost, deeper and deeper, where no one could hear his torrents and tempests – and they’d find him, no worse for wear.
They're wrong
