DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The soft footsteps betrayed another’s movement; an expectation in the barracks, corresponding to all of those who utilized it for its designated, designed purpose. His eyes turned away from the newly-established effigy, no longer pondering where to put it at the moment, distracted from the other’s approach. The General didn’t expect anyone in particular, and only arched a brow, inclined half a smirk, when he saw Jigano in the midst of the training grounds.
The gaze returned, sweeping back on the dummy, worthy of explanation. “I thought some would rather have a mobile target.” Another way to bite back, to fight an adversary’s movements, to chisel and hone motion into their schemes, tactics, and techniques. One could only fight and pierce something unmoving for so long – and that wouldn’t hold true for reality. Enemies didn’t linger. Enemies didn’t cease and desist. Enemies didn’t wait.
So he wouldn’t either.
A shrug to his shoulders thereafter, easing the weight off of them, the tension of other schemes on the horizon, attention returning back to the Sage. “What brings you here?”
The gaze returned, sweeping back on the dummy, worthy of explanation. “I thought some would rather have a mobile target.” Another way to bite back, to fight an adversary’s movements, to chisel and hone motion into their schemes, tactics, and techniques. One could only fight and pierce something unmoving for so long – and that wouldn’t hold true for reality. Enemies didn’t linger. Enemies didn’t cease and desist. Enemies didn’t wait.
So he wouldn’t either.
A shrug to his shoulders thereafter, easing the weight off of them, the tension of other schemes on the horizon, attention returning back to the Sage. “What brings you here?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
