DEIMOS
The similarities were not surprising or bewildering, both once dedicated to mountains and summits, to a world thriving on the potential for dominion, supremacy, and distinction. The peaks had been there to show everyone they weren’t to be denied, rejected, or spurned, never again, with their bellowing howls and wolfish prowls, their stalking forms, their predacious wiles; bestial comrades of the north, of the auroras, of the valleys covered and contorted in snow. Sometimes cold, sometimes lost, sometimes so morosely resolute; he’d been carved straight out of its earth, out of its Siberian walls, out of its illustrious confines, reborn again in its midst, away from the fog, the mist, the shorelines, the crag, Moonlit Tides tucked deep in the shell of his bones, of his vessel, of his hollowed, sculpted insides. They’d had the same goals, the same piques of destruction, the carnivorous sway and hold over monoliths, cliffs, and fortifications. Irreverent, hated, reviled, with the gestures of pride sinking into their teeth and claws, their nails and talons, their fixtures of abhorrence laden by years of refugee status and vengeance. They’d dared the world.
They did the same here. Some things never really changed.
He smiled again, bright, boyish once more, even though she couldn’t snag at it, couldn’t catch its distinction. As for picking and choosing his shifts, he never had; didn’t really know if it was an option. The notion she drank from Remi (hooked fangs into skin) drew the slightest arch of his brow, then naught more. “It feels like it is just there.” Out of necessity, out of fortitude, out of might – the eagle entangled from his fingertips into wings and plumage when he would’ve otherwise died (a second time; uncertain if there would be a third chance somewhere in those fissures and gaps of purgatory, when he should’ve been pulled or stuck in hell). “The tiger form seemed to come when I had to arrest Roana,” and he shrugged. While he’d been successful, it hadn’t really mattered in the end. His massive feline bulk and brawn had snagged and dragged, but she’d found a way to escape regardless. The Sword didn’t say why Roana’s departure or motives escalated his insistence on her locked up accord, let it simmer there. Perhaps Rexanna wasn’t even aware her status, her existence, had marked her as target.
They did the same here. Some things never really changed.
He smiled again, bright, boyish once more, even though she couldn’t snag at it, couldn’t catch its distinction. As for picking and choosing his shifts, he never had; didn’t really know if it was an option. The notion she drank from Remi (hooked fangs into skin) drew the slightest arch of his brow, then naught more. “It feels like it is just there.” Out of necessity, out of fortitude, out of might – the eagle entangled from his fingertips into wings and plumage when he would’ve otherwise died (a second time; uncertain if there would be a third chance somewhere in those fissures and gaps of purgatory, when he should’ve been pulled or stuck in hell). “The tiger form seemed to come when I had to arrest Roana,” and he shrugged. While he’d been successful, it hadn’t really mattered in the end. His massive feline bulk and brawn had snagged and dragged, but she’d found a way to escape regardless. The Sword didn’t say why Roana’s departure or motives escalated his insistence on her locked up accord, let it simmer there. Perhaps Rexanna wasn’t even aware her status, her existence, had marked her as target.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
