DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
He stared out over the water, like a long-suffering, stoic individual, each pun assailing, and only an audible sigh to respond with. There was seemingly no escape, no ability to not hear the inflections – but he still gave it a try, diving below the depths, with only the attuned bombardment still filling them. Enough, he pleaded with the barest flickers of amusement, extending his arms, his legs, putting space between them with a snort.
As if by his own version of punishment, retorts in power and prestige, rather than words (for they’d never be his forte), as Jigano dunked beneath the undulations and ripples, the General sent forth minor waves. They were meant to construe and rebel against the dragon’s might, more diversions rather than harm, before slinking back upwards to gain another breath.
Truthfully, upon the subject of carefulness, of plotting instead of bombarding, only a few could likely say they ever achieved those goals. Enthusiastic and ebullient in the sensation of the unknown, in the beckoning, siren curiosity was all well and good, until it ended up having disastrous consequences. How many times had they meandered into something far larger, far greater, far more dangerous, than they’d ever thought possible? That for all their strength, there was always something bigger, something broader, something mightier, waiting on the other side? It left him with a sinking rumination: once eager to explore, to dive out farther, to revel in the inquiries, and after several seasons of doing just that, and being bombarded with siege after siege…he treated it with cold calculations all over again. Spurned back into silence, he hastened another lingering dive, staying amidst the lighter contortions of the layers, gazing into the never-ending abyss.
As if by his own version of punishment, retorts in power and prestige, rather than words (for they’d never be his forte), as Jigano dunked beneath the undulations and ripples, the General sent forth minor waves. They were meant to construe and rebel against the dragon’s might, more diversions rather than harm, before slinking back upwards to gain another breath.
Truthfully, upon the subject of carefulness, of plotting instead of bombarding, only a few could likely say they ever achieved those goals. Enthusiastic and ebullient in the sensation of the unknown, in the beckoning, siren curiosity was all well and good, until it ended up having disastrous consequences. How many times had they meandered into something far larger, far greater, far more dangerous, than they’d ever thought possible? That for all their strength, there was always something bigger, something broader, something mightier, waiting on the other side? It left him with a sinking rumination: once eager to explore, to dive out farther, to revel in the inquiries, and after several seasons of doing just that, and being bombarded with siege after siege…he treated it with cold calculations all over again. Spurned back into silence, he hastened another lingering dive, staying amidst the lighter contortions of the layers, gazing into the never-ending abyss.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
