DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The Sword stretched across the Settlement on pathways and networks: one likely could’ve pinpointed the way his strides maneuvered along the grounds, by the way he’d tethered himself to certain points, a revolving door of movement, motion, and automaticity. It’d become a routine, a structure, in the passing days, to simply wind his way back and forth on the nuances of his responsibilities and roles, thinking naught of the predictability. It brought him to a certain mindlessness, a haze he’d rather not have been immersed or shelled within, moments spread along the intervals in lists and accords of what he’d set out to accomplish for the morning, for the afternoon, for the evening. He was a restless, but impenetrable force, predatory gaze seeking, searching, for nothing in particular on his way back through – Artisan’s duties taken care of – presuming he’d orchestrate much the same as before, savage pace conducting its machinated march through streets and avenues, onward bound to barracks, then back into infirmary folds.Except this time there was a change, an alteration in the routine, eyes adjusting to particles of shadow and light, buildings blocking ranges, and he might not have noticed her at all until he’d completely passed by. But there was Weaver, settled in along grass, next to another empty building, like ghosts and wraiths, and he gave the slightest nod, a tilt of his head, an inclination of curiosity in all the other conflagrations. Her hands were unmistakably weaving, and he half-snorted, an inward gesture, muffled in its grumbling tones, because for some reason he hadn’t expected her to be regaled into the festivities. As he maneuvered, intending to breeze by, he tossed his head again, comfortable, warrior prowess and greetings, before a rumble of his deep vocals cast its way towards her. “Joining in?”
Unite and spread the heart apart
