DEIMOS
He was here now just to be a witness to her triumph – watching, waiting, through the bonds, through the attention, and he wondered if he embodied his enough, if the constant enamoring harpooned through their connection, if the newfound lines were enough, if everything came together exactly as it should’ve been. He settled his head on hers for a moment, no weight placed upon the snowy-white cranium, just a melding of comfort and audacity, an emboldened press into her joy and elation; uncertain of what she was thanking him for, but accepting it nonetheless. You are welcome; welcome to have anything of his, welcome to have pieces and parts and fragments and whole, intricate depths – And then she advanced, out of his orbit and rotation, but he didn’t click his beak in return – just proffered a quiet croon and murmur of approval, of challenge, an immersion of his determination and her convictions. Her faith and credence were whirlwinds, stalwart entities, and while his had always been in quiet, fluid sedition and insurrection, hers were pure fortifications not tied down with revolution lines; meant for her and her alone. Like in her story of youth, of bodies flailing into the oasis, of barbs and nettles and thorns, and after, when she’d picked him up, up, up when he so wanted to fall apart – he did the same for her, extending strength, prowess, and potential.
But she didn’t need him – not now, with her tenacity bristling and swarming, and he was pleased, satisfied, content, to be a bystander in her victory. She shifted, otter again, as she tumbled and fell and splashed, his sharp eyes cast downward, waiting for her to rise, surfacing along its depths.
Congratulations coiled through him, and he meant it, meant everything. She’d been a conqueror of fears and dreams, and deserved the title. He followed on the wind, hastening down, not straight into the water as she’d done, but upon a rock jutting along the embankment, proud of her accomplishments.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
