gunmetal bones and wolf's teeth

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Drawn guards and walls were familiar too; the arches strong and sturdy, built up and up, a blistering, barbaric ascension when days drifted into more than just war; when the anguish and melancholy scraped and slashed a little too close, a little too near, when he was bombarded, when he had to reform into stone once more. Persistence enabled constant fortitude, a persevering venture to scrape away those who thought to crawl into his sanction – and then, before he realized it, they’d meandered their way in with acceptance and tolerance, not pushing, not prying, lingering outside thresholds or beyond doors, waiting for them to open, waiting for him. It was a differing expanse and experience, gone from the seasons and cycles spent digging himself deeper and deeper into isolated fathoms, carving out a niche, a space, for himself at the top of mountains, away, away, away, from everyone and everything. Here, others didn’t give in, didn’t give up; perhaps it made him an idiot too – but far less lonely, far less desolate, far less rubble and ruin. The hint of a smirk settled along his mouth at her reverberations, aptly put in its blunt place, arching his brow only slightly as he witnessed her strive to relax. Perhaps he didn’t pose a threat; the calm, nonchalant demeanor sliding back into position after layers and lacquer of death and damnation, or she had presumed his cruelty and maliciousness wasn’t aimed at her presence. He could feel her studying, scrutinizing, and he’d done the same – the way predators weighed and calculated another, perceiving and meticulously placing details amidst the foundations, pondering where the bestial, feral chains ended, where the swords, fangs, and talons began again. The beast permitted it, expected it, lifted his head only slightly higher, piercing gaze sliding over raised branches and boughs in the hollow. They were strikingly similar in these particular factions then – exploring, requiring movement and freedom from whatever burdened them. He didn’t say as much; kept everything tucked and furtive, cloak and daggers, shrouds and blades, uncertain of where she’d been, what she’d seen, what she’d heard; the dramatics of the past evenings a ridiculous conflagration. “I did,” he answered at first, facing the will-o-wisps, the haunting siren calls poignant, summoning ghosts and dust. “It depends on where you go in the Greatwood.” The warrior’s eyes narrowed slightly, memories coiling back over images of flora and fauna amidst the groves, the copses, the glistening unknown. “We saw an Undine in the Crimson Cataract, tainted with the blight. It was saved when we strived to heal it. There were Naiads along the Sea of Branches.” He paused, uncertain how far or how much she yearned to hear, how much she’d want to explore and wander amongst for herself. “Rivers intertwine throughout several lands. Then there is the Fae Village,” and here his gaze settled back upon her, some portions of his stare churning in mischief, in curiosity, and warning. "If they catch you there, they will sacrifice you to the tulmhainar.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace