DEIMOS
No direction, no destination, were very un-Deimos like accords; always a plot, a machination, unfurling along his skull, bewitching and inveigling. There weren’t many days spent in idle movements or motions, especially with the pending LongNight, moments absorbed by contemplations, strategies, or preparation, twisting and turning beneath the weight of those things pressing down on their shoulders. Shrugging them off never mattered, and he wasn’t the sort – except now, when they wandered and meandered, no designation except freedom.Which took some getting used to.
He spread his wings again, narrowly taking flight, no great surge into the skies to follow, but a gentle glide, hovering, gathering the wind beneath his wings every now and again to ensure he stayed afloat. The path narrowed and he had to linger barely over the surface of the powder and earth to maintain his aviation and trajectory. He recognized it within avian sights as a deer trail, narrow but passable, where their little shoulders could linger and a larger man’s could not. Picking them up had never been a strategy of his, simply because he couldn’t maneuver in their threshold – too massive, and would’ve spooked them long before he ever got very far, scrambling his way through branches and boughs. Are we looking for Luxere? he mentioned as an aside, endeavoring to prepare her for the inevitable ways in which the glowing antlers and enlightened creatures disappeared when his shroud of darkness loomed.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
