DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Crumbling; there were some days he felt he could – fumble and foil and stumble straight into ash and dust all over again, when his bones were tired and his head was fatigued and there were a thousand other things pressing in. But not now, not when there was steady, stalwart, seditious resolve burrowing deep from his chest, like a knife, like a dagger, like a tempestuous heartbeat waiting to thrive on the cataclysms of others. He breathed and sighed in her hold though, cranium no longer so bowed, so broken, eyes narrowed as he pinpointed along the floor, irreverence and rebellion building behind the maelstrom of chaos in his eyes. The beast could listen, could arm himself with their phrases, their tactics, and still embellish, embark upon his own.Because what would he alter? It’d always been for those closest to him. It’d always been for the pieces and parts that made him whole. It’d always been for mountain tops and summits, for upheaval and oblivion, it’d always been for the few he cherished, for the ones who managed to slip past his guard, stay in the nefarious vessels and chambers of his blackened, bruised heart.
And he’d already begun on her second interval, armor and weaponry for those who’d needed it during LongNight (before everything burned, decimated, ruined), training extended along the grounds for anyone who wanted it, advice where he could manage, where anyone would listen, a defensive procedure ready to be put into place to ensure fortifications. So he snorted, laughed, a little less hollow, a little less sunken. Trusting another might be the most difficult, especially he’d watched decision after decision blow up in some faces. “Very little change for me, then.” Then he chuckled once more, self-deprecating humor, the warmth there instead of the brambles, the nettles, the thorns.
