DEIMOS
The pecking was an insistent thing, beckoning at his lower limbs, grating, pernicious, but he didn’t manifest the notion of pain through the bond. It stuck and stayed with him as he strived and lifted, enduring the aches and anguish (deserved, perhaps), carried and unfurled his wings, attempting to hold both of them aloft until Loren managed to right himself. He allowed and allotted for a subtle drift downward, gliding, breathing in the chilling air, the rapacious edges of their aerial pursuits. All right? a constant inquiry he notched and noted through any of their training sessions; a little irritated that it always seemed to go slightly awry. Whether or not it was his fault was another contemplation he’d impart later; some other apprehension and misgiving to add amongst the numerous multitudes of missteps. We are done for today. No sense in continuing, with Loren already maimed and brutalized.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
