near half-empty

Deimos Glancing over the jar, and securing the lid tight, the General placed it amongst the others in the bag, the fourth of such collected objects and artifacts meant to secure Amalia’s healing. Then he rose from the ground as well, tall and colossal again, not expecting Libbs’ inquiry drawling over towards him, configuring his features into a reticent expression once more to hide the weariness, the apprehension, the consternation stored and compiled in his mind. Truth be told, he hadn’t told Libbs much. The majority of those assisting him understood the nuances and didn’t expect an explanation – the tale had circulated far and wide, of Ronin’s rage, of sanctuaries falling, of another accord in the Fiat Lux torment. But Libbs had arrived after, in the aftermath of their trials and tribulations, so his eyes pinpointed to the ground for a moment, narrowing, shrugging the bag back onto his shoulders. “My fiancée lost the use of her legs when a portion of the temple fell on her.” Blunt and honest, gaze settling along the timber line, then the shore, as if he’d rather be distant than focus on the whys. Maybe she deserved to know for assisting. Maybe he didn’t want to say anything more. Maybe it wouldn’t matter in the end, when he’d succeeded, when everything could fine some sort of normal balance. Some amount of faith, bizarre for him to have at all, besides in himself, in Amalia, in Kiada, in other portions of family and friends. “I asked Safrin to heal her.” At the offering of the sack of water though, he shook his head, declining. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime