like a wild thing

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Careful considerations, no wicked manipulations on her part, but a stretch of the age-old ways in which they worked; Reaper bygones not so absent, no matter in how many other measures he’d altered, changed, and grown. Hard pressed to not do more than sulk or brood, and she’d mired herself into those waters likely too many times, with attempts to drag him out of a muck he’d ensconced himself within. He’d long since realized how lucky, how fortunate, he was for those like Hotaru – who didn’t spurn him for the violence in his blood, who comprehended the necessities of vehemence and vitriol, to express it in safer confines when the world kept pressing, kept eluding, kept damning. The gratitude was immersed into silence presently, mind whirling on how to pay her back. He shifted now, with platitudes postured away from the remnants of squirrels and their bludgeoned nuances, listening to the wood crackle and burn. His attention went to her as she spoke, a pattern of sorts, with the ruminations of creation magic once again not aligning properly. “Jigano and I have had similar issues.” His brows furrowed, not with the weight of failure now, but along the marks of uncertainty. He’d wielded it deftly, frequently, could manage to spurn almost anything from the depths of his mind. Now it lingered and strained bizarrely, as if he didn’t have the right strands, the right means, the right elements to posture it back together again. “It takes a huge amount of concentration to make anything now, and they are not so significant.” Or grand; nothing magical entangled in his efforts – and he’d tried, mulling and musing over more fragments for the loved ones in his life – nothing but ether and vestiges of what once was to show for it. The Sword paused, eyes glancing up to her, handing over the metallic spit, a head-tilt to mark his confusion and machinations, a constant combination in these parts. “But then the other day, I could do this.” And down by her feet, where small stones and pebbles resided, they began to move, sweeping along around her in short spurts, ceasing on his shrug. He had no explanation, no ability to understand, other than the mysteries and integral contortions to enchantments and invocations. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace