DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Zuriel, for her part in the quiet adventure, pulled and tugs on some weeds within the jungle’s lair, just along the opening where it parted from branches and boughs, and layered out to sand. While she pickily chose bits and pieces she thought might suit her appetite, recognition of others coming in from the sky caused her to abandon the leaves for the moment – ears pricking, head rising, a light whinny extended towards the incoming gryphon. The dragon, had he of come any closer, would’ve earned pinned ears and a haughty, sour attitude. Isuma was welcome to flutter around her, however, and the unicorn amplified her greetings with a nod, and wave of fronds in her mouth.
Deimos intended to take another breath and continue his explorations beneath the waves, perhaps snag at another manta and follow; no rhyme, no reason, no hovering expectations multiplying along broad, brawny shoulders. The shadow overhead ensured he ceased in that second; the pinpoint of outstretched wings, thankfully familiar, because otherwise he might’ve churned out either apprehension (from those hours spent in ivory, iced caves, and mourning the ones left behind), or rage (splitting something apart in vengeance). Instead, his gaze followed the ambiguous nature of the Sage’s motions, leathery contortions skimming over rippling veneers. Maybe he was just exploring and enjoying too – with the horizon not so bleak for the day. Jigano he implored in greeting, before diving below the surface again, embarking on watery paths.
Deimos intended to take another breath and continue his explorations beneath the waves, perhaps snag at another manta and follow; no rhyme, no reason, no hovering expectations multiplying along broad, brawny shoulders. The shadow overhead ensured he ceased in that second; the pinpoint of outstretched wings, thankfully familiar, because otherwise he might’ve churned out either apprehension (from those hours spent in ivory, iced caves, and mourning the ones left behind), or rage (splitting something apart in vengeance). Instead, his gaze followed the ambiguous nature of the Sage’s motions, leathery contortions skimming over rippling veneers. Maybe he was just exploring and enjoying too – with the horizon not so bleak for the day. Jigano he implored in greeting, before diving below the surface again, embarking on watery paths.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
