DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He wasn’t certain what he needed, except a break. A rest. A repose. A chance to fathom what was normal now (nothing), what he’d lost, and what he still had. The remaining vestiges were few and far between from everything he’d had before – and to kindle back to those surfaces was only going to make the moments that much harder; and he tightened his jaw, yearning to explode, to escape, to fall apart into a thousand pieces, and be left alone for eternity. Except not at all; and it was a confusing, muddling sense and set of circumstances, and while Astra left to return to Loren’s side, Zuriel took her place, his fingers weaving out of habit into her mane. “I will consider it,” and there might’ve been a taut smile in the corner of his mouth, acknowledging the Firebrand’s attempts, because Deimos knew he didn’t deserve it.
More movements, more motions, more meanderings, his mind only churning back and forth over what they’d passed, in order to reconnect the depths when they had to return. The resounding options there before them proffered no significant sign or temptation, and he was left to base the decision on fortune and faith (neither had ever truly been in his favor). “We can try right.” If it amounted to naught, then they could always turn around, strive and start again.
More movements, more motions, more meanderings, his mind only churning back and forth over what they’d passed, in order to reconnect the depths when they had to return. The resounding options there before them proffered no significant sign or temptation, and he was left to base the decision on fortune and faith (neither had ever truly been in his favor). “We can try right.” If it amounted to naught, then they could always turn around, strive and start again.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
