DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Finishing blows and piercing, penetrating fangs, inherent designs ensured a swift end, mouth cutting off the deer’s air supply, a choking, grasping clench he’d orchestrated many times before upon enemies and adversaries. It was almost nothing. No satisfaction. Just patterns of seasons and cycles of before.
The deer eventually went still, limp, and the dead weight hung from his jaws, and he slung, dragged, it over to a flattened expanse. No need to clean the blood around his paws. It’d been caught on his hands one too many times, stained them crimson in the midst of battle-hymns and trumpeting calls to arms.
So the pounding, cumbersome decadence battered between his shoulder blades again, and determined to forge on, he lifted his head from the rampant silence. All set? A respite, a breath, before he picked up the beast again, striving to wander back towards Oliver’s camp.
The deer eventually went still, limp, and the dead weight hung from his jaws, and he slung, dragged, it over to a flattened expanse. No need to clean the blood around his paws. It’d been caught on his hands one too many times, stained them crimson in the midst of battle-hymns and trumpeting calls to arms.
So the pounding, cumbersome decadence battered between his shoulder blades again, and determined to forge on, he lifted his head from the rampant silence. All set? A respite, a breath, before he picked up the beast again, striving to wander back towards Oliver’s camp.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
