DEIMOS
The Sword figured he’d be alone – the broader reach of this world seemed to hold in stronger voids, where a soul could be tucked away for eternities, and most wouldn’t wander out to find them. The space provided relief, the winds some cool familiarity, and the roots of his convictions could spread, instead of being constantly devoured or conquered. The metal in his hands continued its expanding, taking shape, the structure maintaining its illustrious composition in obsidian lacquer, the top of the design sweeping back and forth like flames. He paused, observing the work, intending to implement the further workings in his mind, the sketches reeling through machinations and depictions he’d set apart, when a voice called over the plain. The beast raised his cranium from the examinations, the studies, perusing the outline, recognizing the healer instantly. “Loren,” he presided in a rumble, an arch to his brow at the pack on the man’s back, but saying nothing in its stead. How many times had he traversed with his munitions and supplies? Perhaps it was a habitual thing here too – expecting danger and treachery at every turn.
Zuriel extended her greetings to the luxere in a light snort and whinny, rising from where she’d been tucked along the boulder. The monolith’s attention, while sitting upon the rock, drifted back to the creation in his hands, lifting up the half-finished lantern. “Offering for Tanau.” A shrug, indicating he wasn’t certain if it was viable, necessary, or just something to pass the time. “And you?”
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
