DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He’d gone relatively mute in the bandaging process; not the first nor the last that he’d likely sport some ridiculous-looking, but no less effective, threshold. It was all he could do to remain upright, the immobility something rooted deep in his sanction and soul, no other contemplations contorting, save for the ongoing struggle and plight in his mind.
Too hot, too cold, too confused, too addled, the conversation surrounding him seemed like he wasn’t even there. Maybe that was true, and he was mere pieces now, ash and dust and soot, the way he always should’ve been. An echo, a fringe, a vestige, nothing more than shadows and wraiths, following after his phantoms until his tomb etched itself into mountainsides, and his bones turned cold.
He bowed his head then, resting on the canteen she hadn’t taken, not watching Zuriel’s reaction to the question. For her part, the unicorn became obviously irritated, pinning her ears at the mention of the situation. She began to shake her head, either in disapproval or refusal, before his tones echoed, but were sent to the ground, where he continued to stare. “No. Amalia is not there.” He didn’t know where, other than chasing after stars, leaving him behind.
He wasn’t worth staying on earth for, after all. That much had always been obvious. “She is sick too.”
Too hot, too cold, too confused, too addled, the conversation surrounding him seemed like he wasn’t even there. Maybe that was true, and he was mere pieces now, ash and dust and soot, the way he always should’ve been. An echo, a fringe, a vestige, nothing more than shadows and wraiths, following after his phantoms until his tomb etched itself into mountainsides, and his bones turned cold.
He bowed his head then, resting on the canteen she hadn’t taken, not watching Zuriel’s reaction to the question. For her part, the unicorn became obviously irritated, pinning her ears at the mention of the situation. She began to shake her head, either in disapproval or refusal, before his tones echoed, but were sent to the ground, where he continued to stare. “No. Amalia is not there.” He didn’t know where, other than chasing after stars, leaving him behind.
He wasn’t worth staying on earth for, after all. That much had always been obvious. “She is sick too.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
