DEIMOS
Well, at least the tome wasn’t alive. He hadn’t been sent off to another dimension. He hadn’t been attacked.Too many circumstances and events had surrounded, pervaded, persisted in his caution, and while the stick had done its job, the mystery still remained. The fact that it didn’t move at all provided him with little detail except perhaps it was stuck, anchored, and moored somewhere. He was tempted to simply use brute strength, but because nothing was ever that easy, he considered alternatives as to the reasoning behind these bizarre notions. Why curled within, curiosity getting the better of him, and he turned over his palm, permitting the smallest amount of fire to conform and curl from his calloused hands. The intentions were to merely contort some light to see by, to inspect, tilting his head and reaching forward, striving to catch a hint of what kept it mired along the shelving or the walls.
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Deimos creates a tiny ember in his hand to use for lighting to see why this book is stuck.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
