DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Storms permitting people to walk through? A trick? A deception? Weather snagging and snaring? Or was it something else altogether? He swallowed down the rancorous notions of a damn dragon (how many more were doomed to be found?), eyes focused on Zuriel for a moment. The unicorn’s eyes had narrowed, and a subtle shake of her head followed, indicating that her healing notions weren’t quite up to par – that no matter the amount of incantations she was putting in, eventually it wouldn’t matter.
Another sigh shifted through his lungs; he was so tired of simply losing, of everyone around this damned hellhole losing and dying and falling to pieces. His jaw clenched, muscles feathering tightly. “Did the dragon do this to you?” Was it another threat this world faced? Like the white ones in Halo? Or something else lurking in the void? “Can you remember what the rest of the land looked like?” In case they managed to fumble their way there, amidst these entangled elements?
There wasn’t much else he could do or say, not a creature rendered in comfort. He sat down beside the man instead of kneeling or crouching now though, striving for some sort of solidarity, solid, tangible, motions he’d encountered and exuded beside fallen, broken comrades, while Zuriel attempted to keep him comfortable through the worsening onslaught.
Another sigh shifted through his lungs; he was so tired of simply losing, of everyone around this damned hellhole losing and dying and falling to pieces. His jaw clenched, muscles feathering tightly. “Did the dragon do this to you?” Was it another threat this world faced? Like the white ones in Halo? Or something else lurking in the void? “Can you remember what the rest of the land looked like?” In case they managed to fumble their way there, amidst these entangled elements?
There wasn’t much else he could do or say, not a creature rendered in comfort. He sat down beside the man instead of kneeling or crouching now though, striving for some sort of solidarity, solid, tangible, motions he’d encountered and exuded beside fallen, broken comrades, while Zuriel attempted to keep him comfortable through the worsening onslaught.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
