DEIMOS
The merriment faded; the beast felt it in the coil of his marrow, in the trepidation, consternation, and then reverence to follow. They weren’t his emotions, but hers, and his brows furrowed, caution and concentration embedded simultaneously, piercing eyes taking in the forms wandering out before them - ghost whales persisting in her wake. The connotation and title alone gave him pause – all the ones he’d ever known and seen had been very much alive and whole. They seemed to bend and maneuver just the same, only in bony structures and fragments, and his jaw clenched, wondering if they were meant to savor this another time, another place – Except Amalia conjured another possibility. He breathed, pondered the rate of risk – but as birds, they could likely be high enough without much of an issue. The curiosity compelled and the calculations seared, between ruminations of proceeding or turning back, stoked by the possibilities, and incensed by other treacheries, devastations, ruins.
Her idea though would permit the inquiry and fascination – though he hadn’t known what it was as he grabbed hold of her fin, muffling some bizarre sentiment of laughter, because the situation itself was ridiculous, or the notions coming thereafter. But trust had been eternally instilled, and then there was speed, swiftness, allowing his muscles to coordinate along, feed into the quick actions.
And then they were airborne.
The Sword did laugh this time, along the inward connections of attuned reaches, taking flight with stretched out wings, instinctive plumes striking out into the air. Well done echoed and bounded, some deep rumble of a chuckle flowing through. The sea-salt spray foamed and waved underneath them now, and he swung out wide and above, aloft into the ethers, more power, more precision, turning back to wait, before they lingered above the leviathan.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
