DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Deimos could understand the notions of restlessness; it coaxed and curled through him now, a twitch of his tail, of his ears, of his whiskers, of the yawning, midnight void and its endless properties. Half of it might have simply inveigled annihilation, an age-old penchant for menace and malice, certainly not swayed by occupying a solely carnivore mind. Frustration and apprehension from seasons before kept pummeling at him, clawed through his chest no matter which form he perceived and snagged, be it human or beast, irritated, vexed, he couldn’t be anything more than what he was currently. He slunk along the veil of night, cast into beams of moonlight, shards of soulless regard for split seconds, before slinking back into contortions of shadow; rapacious edges and treacherous means.
The question grated against him, and for a few piercing moments those puncturing eyes narrowed, contemplating, deciding. Didn’t the Sword want to be alone? Wasn’t that his solace? Wasn’t that always the way of it? To cast himself back into the anchors of darkness, where it was comfortable, familiar, and certain? But then again, it was just him and his vices in those voids, in those parallels. His fangs clicked together while he considered, roaming along the brush and grass of the training grounds, biding his time, his torment. No. I do not mind. Some granule of truth, some lie embedded in there too – stare flickering to the ground. You need to learn to be quieter, if you ever intend to hunt successfully. Whatever the prey may be.
The question grated against him, and for a few piercing moments those puncturing eyes narrowed, contemplating, deciding. Didn’t the Sword want to be alone? Wasn’t that his solace? Wasn’t that always the way of it? To cast himself back into the anchors of darkness, where it was comfortable, familiar, and certain? But then again, it was just him and his vices in those voids, in those parallels. His fangs clicked together while he considered, roaming along the brush and grass of the training grounds, biding his time, his torment. No. I do not mind. Some granule of truth, some lie embedded in there too – stare flickering to the ground. You need to learn to be quieter, if you ever intend to hunt successfully. Whatever the prey may be.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
