[se] chaos is all they know

Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace Nothing to do but wait; for some, a luxury, moments spent in the arches and arcs of repose, naught but their own thoughts in the midst. But for individuals like them, warriors, people of action, it could only inspire a certain amount of restlessness, the need for movement, the craving for vehemence, and Deimos could understand that notion perfectly. How many times had he spent the hours away, cramped and cooped up in LongNight debacles and shelters, wanting to do something besides will the hours away? And when he finally had, when he thought he’d ultimately found a way to ensure safety and security… Jaw clenched for the thousandth time, he dug into the earth, stifled, suffocated, smothered the sentiments down, down, down into his gut. He had no answer for her though, incapable of dulling his own pain, much less anyone else’s for the instant. He grabbed hold of another rock, dropping it along the stone with the reeds, and then intending to snag at light colored flowers growing around the perimeter of the glade. I thought we could gather things for flower crowns at Fiat Lux by way of explanation, even though he had no intention of joining the festivities this year. The last one had been traumatic enough, the casualties overshadowing the elation and joy; made now to sculpt and carve their own contentment out of the tragedies. However, at her notion of everyone leaving, and knowing exactly how stubborn, how ridiculous some portions of their group were, he could only wrestle with the ruminations for so long. We stayed of our own volition. He’d been General, orchestrator of the door, meant to protect when all he’d done was butcher. Ronin had been beheld by Safrin. Amalia had helped him, strived to aid him through the terror and torture. There’d been reason upon reason for staying, but even in his head, they didn’t sound like enough. He’d still take the blame, place it, whittle it into his shoulders, bind it into his spine. Though the Sword heard the playfulness, the candor of mischief, the beast couldn’t quite summon it within his own frame. Instead, his piercing gaze slanted right towards the leopard, full attention and dominion upon her. Depends on yours. A pause, an arch to his brow, a tilt of the canine skull. Evie asked me to be General again, but I need someone to tell me when my ideas are foolish. Idiotic, dangerous, yearning to defend but forgoing natural consequences until they were too late. Would you be interested in being the second in command of the militia?

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