DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Another wandered into the midst, and he ceased all movement for a moment, save for the swivel of his ears, still, stoic, statuesque. A predatory predilection curled and coiled into his mind, maybe more feline than his human endeavors, or they were merged together in the conflagration of beast and man, narrowing his eyes to study, to ponder. Should he go after the erstwhile form, maul, annihilate, and cast off into oblivion? The temptation, the enticement, sunk into him, until he took in the expanse, the figure, and it was too familiar to launch upon.
For now.
The swishing tail, the crouching down, might have been foolish – but Deimos almost expected it from Oliver. So he only addressed him through their attuned bond; if he’d been rendered into his normal form, a brow would’ve been arched, curious, inquisitive, but readily unsure. Oliver, a deep rumble, a hint of a growl. What are you doing?
For now.
The swishing tail, the crouching down, might have been foolish – but Deimos almost expected it from Oliver. So he only addressed him through their attuned bond; if he’d been rendered into his normal form, a brow would’ve been arched, curious, inquisitive, but readily unsure. Oliver, a deep rumble, a hint of a growl. What are you doing?
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
