like a wild thing

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame His brow arched at her hatred, at her abhorrence, towards the squirrels – a muffled bit of laughter implored through his chest, through his throat. But her newest item, and apparent quest, were more intriguing, and his eyes followed the smirk, the movement, of her crop. “Impressive. What were you asked to do?” Sojourns for deities and heralds had been foreign to him recently, until he’d requested Safrin’s assistance for Amalia’s legs and spine – uncertain what Hotaru would’ve asked for and what she was asked to do. It clearly wasn’t gathering leaves. But it wouldn’t take much to entice him to some sort of vehemence, not now, not after the waves of frustration, vexation, and death; needing the achingly familiar violence stirring beneath his veins, a sharp, keen note of disaster orchestrated by them, instead of constantly the other way around. “I am game.” They’d been a vexing contortion during his own quest, when he and Sunjata ventured into the labyrinth, searching for the efas herb. Persuaded, the Sword advanced then, towards the entrance of the warren – the squirrels inveigled instantly with his closer presence, their outcries pouring along senses, echoing across vines and boughs, crawling across the top of the hedges. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace