DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Deimos didn’t expect Oliver to behave in the same mannerisms – no need to adopt a stoic mask, no need to maintain a reticent stature. This portion of the exercise was merely to blend in, to take in the surroundings, to channel the predatory instincts nature and gods had granted them. Oliver seemed more adept at fumbling forward, advancing, but it was made in careless distinctions; no thought to where his feet fell, if there was any indication by the crunching, rustling intonations of the grass. Slow your pace. The point is to act as if you are not there at all. Like ether, like smoke and fumes, like air; untraceable by sound. He bunched, coiled, his muscles in place, limbs taut, ready to spring at a single predilection, but each movement, each motion, as they roamed further into tall grass, was methodical, calculated.
The reeds and blades bent around him, their dried aspects only proffering the slightest granule of noise, as if the wind bade them to maneuver, instead of his larger mass. He crouched then, down further than the plants, maintaining a silent, quiet, existence; head only turning slightly to observe the other cat’s attempts. If they could somehow manage to advance further without startling everything around them, then they might be able to put the techniques to actual use.
The reeds and blades bent around him, their dried aspects only proffering the slightest granule of noise, as if the wind bade them to maneuver, instead of his larger mass. He crouched then, down further than the plants, maintaining a silent, quiet, existence; head only turning slightly to observe the other cat’s attempts. If they could somehow manage to advance further without startling everything around them, then they might be able to put the techniques to actual use.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
