DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Zuriel was quite content with offerings of food – placated from any haughty, scornful mood, partaking in those extended, crunching, snorting softly; but not having much to grant in return. Her head tilted vaguely, then maw reached out to snag at the branches, bending them up and down as some assemblage of a game.
Jigano must’ve expected Deimos to be committed to something useful instead of recreational; the latter a rarity, taking moments in time to recall old skills, coasting below the surface, trailing after the scales of fish, the leafed tails of the manta. Indulging in yesteryear foundations, his arms swept him downwards, well-practiced and manifested pulses of movement, streamlined for efficiency, strength, and power, not just in violence, but in other forms of life. Just swimming, he answered in return. He could’ve opened his hands and chased down the animals beneath his motions, snagged, intending to grab, to toss out of the sea, to hoard for later food supplies.
He might’ve; had there not be a turbulent maelstrom thereafter, wings plunging along the surface, erupting and emboldening the veneer to be more than just waves and ripples. Shaking his head and rising back up, breaking over the current, only to snort, treading water a few yards away from the dragon. “All right?” A brow arched at the noises following the rather haphazard landing.
Jigano must’ve expected Deimos to be committed to something useful instead of recreational; the latter a rarity, taking moments in time to recall old skills, coasting below the surface, trailing after the scales of fish, the leafed tails of the manta. Indulging in yesteryear foundations, his arms swept him downwards, well-practiced and manifested pulses of movement, streamlined for efficiency, strength, and power, not just in violence, but in other forms of life. Just swimming, he answered in return. He could’ve opened his hands and chased down the animals beneath his motions, snagged, intending to grab, to toss out of the sea, to hoard for later food supplies.
He might’ve; had there not be a turbulent maelstrom thereafter, wings plunging along the surface, erupting and emboldening the veneer to be more than just waves and ripples. Shaking his head and rising back up, breaking over the current, only to snort, treading water a few yards away from the dragon. “All right?” A brow arched at the noises following the rather haphazard landing.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
