near half-empty

Deimos He’d looked for the dead before; either enemy or comrades, slipping between fallen forms and bloodied plains. Some to be buried, some to be ignored, some giving away to ash and embers, cinders and soot, some just another hollowed catacomb. Except now it was leaves, no ichor running down their still, prone figures; just the crumbling, withering, decaying nuances of brown and fatigue. His eyes followed her as she maneuvered along, stretching out his stride, instead of winding his way around, instead of maneuvering in a restless contortion. “Yes,” he agreed, gaze turning upwards towards the broken brambles, where something had gotten hold of it, unhealthy, even with the notion of dry, hot days. His memories cast to moments twisted and turned like the blight, pondering if they were to face more of the same in the coming seasons: whatever other disasters lay ahead, as if the little victories they’d managed to snag and ensnare were already long gone. The General’s breath was long and low as he raised his arm to another on a low-hanging branch, inspecting only to find the slightest amount of greenery left, as if clinging to the remains of life. He let it remain as Libbs spoke – and he would’ve been content to reside and reign in silence for an eternity, but rarely did anyone else feel the same. “Outlander.” Once, the world wouldn’t have let any of them forget it. “Been here for over a year though.” As if that mattered; assimilated and thrust within the sanctions, hurtling and harpooning himself into the void more often than not. Did she have inquiries for the land she suddenly found herself within too? The General’s gaze snapped back downwards to her, as if waiting, anticipating the incoming quandaries. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime