DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Deimos found it very difficult to be happy when his world kept shattering down around him. In another time, years before, when everything seemed so much simpler, when friends weren’t obliterated at every turn, he might’ve been able to glance past predicament after predicament. But here and there he’d endured, he’d persevered, through trial after trial after trial; except these seasons seemed to overlap in misery, anguish, and despair, and it kept beating, berating, down the back of his spine and through the fortified walls he’d always carefully maintained. They were tired. Everything about him was thoroughly exhausted, fatigued, and worn down by bedlam after bedlam, by misfortune after misfortune, by mistake after mistake; left behind to rot and decay from the inside out.
None of which was Oliver’s fault – but he couldn’t match the excitement or laughter, could only gaze at bones used for handles, at growth instead of reeling backwards. A noteworthy change of pace from the blacksmith. It was still palpable through the Attuned bond, the little notes and refrains of warmth – Deimos just didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t deserve it. Couldn’t prolong it.
Instead, he nodded and followed, an instructor at the back, watching and waiting to see how Oliver reacted to surroundings, to movements, to hunting and vigilance. The tiger could sense other beings – the scents intermingling as they maneuvered, as savage steps meandered through trails and paths, to a forged purpose instead of drifting in and out of melancholy. Fluid motions bent beneath canopies and boughs, age-old, familiar bounds tucked into the feline expanse – witnessing Oliver lower to a crouch when he discovered the deer.
Another lesson instilled perhaps – as the General remained perfectly immobile, a frozen piece of predatory deliberation. Think of what you see. Which one is weaker and easier to hunt?
None of which was Oliver’s fault – but he couldn’t match the excitement or laughter, could only gaze at bones used for handles, at growth instead of reeling backwards. A noteworthy change of pace from the blacksmith. It was still palpable through the Attuned bond, the little notes and refrains of warmth – Deimos just didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t deserve it. Couldn’t prolong it.
Instead, he nodded and followed, an instructor at the back, watching and waiting to see how Oliver reacted to surroundings, to movements, to hunting and vigilance. The tiger could sense other beings – the scents intermingling as they maneuvered, as savage steps meandered through trails and paths, to a forged purpose instead of drifting in and out of melancholy. Fluid motions bent beneath canopies and boughs, age-old, familiar bounds tucked into the feline expanse – witnessing Oliver lower to a crouch when he discovered the deer.
Another lesson instilled perhaps – as the General remained perfectly immobile, a frozen piece of predatory deliberation. Think of what you see. Which one is weaker and easier to hunt?
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
