DEIMOS
Talons gripped on snake scales and coiled ruminations; in his predator mind, it had been just one more threat to their collection of impending meals, sustenance for those who’d require it in the long evenings to come. There’d been no thought or insinuation of it being another attuned; and as he rose above, into the skies, upon releasing the heathen, his bird eyes might have widened a fraction. He’d believed it to be another scavenger, another forager, intending to fill their own stomach on instinct and opportunity. Perhaps he hadn’t been mistaken – as this individual was seemingly convinced it had a right to snag, procure, and purloin. Deimos had lived amongst enough dramatics of thievery in his previous lifetime to ever want to encounter it again – a shell, a shadow, a vessel on borderlines, trapping would-be absconders yearning, intending, to inveigle and wind their way into victory, triumph, or merit. The beast had no intention of permitting it to happen under his watch.
The figure was wholly unfamiliar though; some pink skirt and netting embalmed inhabitant. Scrawny. Too lean and slim for his tall frame. He wasn’t about to judge based on clothing, but his less than intimidating stance, his meager means, only spoke of how many and how often the fellow shifter had missed nutrition and provisions. The eagle landed nearby, affixing his gaze on the stranger with an avian head-tilt, listening to the shouts, eyeing the fish he’d somehow managed to clutch and hold in the frenzy. Maybe it was his embezzling skills, eternally on the prize, no matter the chance of injury.
So Deimos shifted back – behemoth and monolith, guarding the rest of his wares, standing close to the basket, folding his arms across his chest. He felt naught at the glares or the lecture: he would do it again without hesitation, only arching a brow and ensuring his features remained nonchalant, unimpressed. “Then you should not steal.”
The figure was wholly unfamiliar though; some pink skirt and netting embalmed inhabitant. Scrawny. Too lean and slim for his tall frame. He wasn’t about to judge based on clothing, but his less than intimidating stance, his meager means, only spoke of how many and how often the fellow shifter had missed nutrition and provisions. The eagle landed nearby, affixing his gaze on the stranger with an avian head-tilt, listening to the shouts, eyeing the fish he’d somehow managed to clutch and hold in the frenzy. Maybe it was his embezzling skills, eternally on the prize, no matter the chance of injury.
So Deimos shifted back – behemoth and monolith, guarding the rest of his wares, standing close to the basket, folding his arms across his chest. He felt naught at the glares or the lecture: he would do it again without hesitation, only arching a brow and ensuring his features remained nonchalant, unimpressed. “Then you should not steal.”
gatekeeper of an endless war
where lines between right and wrong
don't exist anymore
