[se] when another is gone

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Time and moments really had no relevance to him – the man appeared, disappeared, reappeared in a mystifying haze. For a few instances the Sword was left alone with his ghosts, and he stared over towards the wall, where he could see shadows playing on the expanse, figures and shapes like birds. Like harpies. He waited for them to catch ablaze, to soar like phoenixes, like rippling embers upon spines, but they merely stayed aloft, aloft, aloft, until they fell. His head reared back, eyes narrowed, watching as the flock completely descended into nothingness, clenching his jaw again until his teeth hurt and something echoed, rounded, along his brain and he wanted to go home (you do not have one – you cannot make them out of people, and the people cannot stay), wanted to flee – Noah was before him again, and he blinked, bewildered. He’d already forgotten his previous request, lifting his hands up to procure the bowl again. No meat this time, but the smell was something surprising, enticing – gods, he could drown in it. Maybe he would. He lifted it up to his lips and swallowed, upright again without notice, taking his time, savoring the burn, the relish. “Thank you.” Manners hadn’t been lost in the haze, at least, guzzling down more when the instances allowed. Noah’s question echoed back towards him, and his eyes shifted, not cruel, not menacing, too touched and fragmented by the affliction to give any proper savagery. “Cold.” A shudder to follow, despite being wrapped in blankets and furs, despite heavy pelts and garb. “And hot.” Which seemed to prosper an inclination, for he lowered the bowl to his lap for a moment, features beginning to take shape in more mischievous accord. “Morgan and Chulane said no fire.” But the dimpled smirk indicated he craved the menace of the flames, of the power, and he turned over one palm, so that the cinders burst with a frenetic zeal from calloused flesh – sparking, sizzling, with a juvenile air. I will not tell if you do not resounded from the arch of one brow. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace