who we are and all that we're trying to be
The Reaper had gazed into darkness for nearly his entire life – knew its shape, knew its fathoms, knew its depths as well as his own flesh, blood, and bones. Familiar, an old friend, when the hollowed reaches called out, when the void took shape, when feral instincts came over the nonchalance. The Sword had done much the same, save for the rays of light peeking through, for the sun and stars shining, pouring along, giving him chances, opportunities, to see there were other reaches worth living for; more so than violence and vehemence, more so than vengeance and irreverence.
But it was difficult to face the skies, heavens, and cosmos again, after being surrounded by horrors and afflictions.
They would come out of it, as they always did, worse for wear, morose, melancholy, and worn, tired, misshapen. Time would mend and stitch over old scars, knot and gnarl them near faded ones of yesteryear, and they’d try to assemble something out of the broken messes. The piercing slate of his eyes could see it was hard again for her too, and one had to wonder when they would cease trying altogether.
Not now; tempting as it was. Her promise echoed and unfurled, the earnest smile painted over fragments, and he yearned so badly to fix it. Amalia’s words bounded over him again and he turned silent once more for her sake, no rebuttal in his mind. Nothing but claws working through the earth, nothing but the attempt to remember days not so damned, not so draining. The work was refreshing in its own way – permitting him to think of naught more but the shift of dirt in between claws and paws, muscles honed and harpooned, put to action instead of mulling.
His teeth had snagged hold of another bloom, some thyme, slowly lowering it into the hole, when her breath sharpened. Glancing up out of concern, Deimos didn’t expect these particular phrases; of getting away, some escape, some deliverance, some liberation from the constant bombardment of disaster and ruin. The hound sat down, otherwise very still, but the considerations didn’t take long. Yes. We should. Planning and plotting began immediately, customary machinations, out of the smoke and fumes of oblivion, savoring something meant to be greater. I can find someone to watch the guild and barracks.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
