who we are and all that we're trying to be
A follow through of motions, again and again and again, nearly instinctual and inherent by the time he’d finished with one log. The pieces cut, carved, and broken apart from one another only left the splitting, and so he grabbed a few chunks of the wood to stabilize the other, while he reigned again, lifting the ax up to bring it down into the middle of the lumber. It split apart, and he placed the two portions within the wagon, muscles content, satisfied, with the work.
Zuriel, however, was instantly distracted by another approaching, and so both of them raised their heads, one predatory and akin to violence, the other noble, dignified, and curious – watching as the depths and shadows revealed a unicorn. Unfamiliar to both, the mountain narrowed his eyes in speculation, while the fellow equine whinnied, as if all counterparts were to be trusted immediately. Perhaps it was the case, perhaps not; for Deimos was unlikely to do the same.
The other individual was distinctly unknown as well – and so he remained unyielding, stoic, reticent, reserved, as the pair wandered forth, the words ensuing the only thing embarking an emotion, cold amusement in a feral chuckle. “Not in this circumstance. I rescued Zuriel from a landshark.” And had nearly lost his arm for it. The hand held out caused him to arch a brow, but the words following were something customary, familiar, contributions and establishments of the same warrior class. Captain Morgan was committed to memory, with a bow of his head in respect. “A fellow soldier,” and he extended his calloused palm in turn, a steady, strong shake between the pair. “Deimos, General of the Hollowed Grounds.”
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
