DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Tones, disgruntled in nature, settled over his bowed head, and when he lifted his skull upwards, there was the ragged herald, though clearly unimpressed with Deimos’ chosen venue. So instead of being shocked, bewildered, or reverent, his eyes went to the scarves under Stygian cloth, and stifled the barest form of a smile. The Sword hadn’t thought the deities could be effected by the climate, and so it had been his fault in these matters (as it often was; Safrin had reminded him more than once). In order to negate the imposition, palms suddenly gilded once more, manifesting, extending another offering of a heavy blanket thereafter (and if there were patterns of skulls upon the inside, then so be it).
The toys appeared to be taken in aplomb, and so the residual weight in his chest altered, slightly, going through the list of reasons why he was here. Why he asked for the herald of death, and not the one of life. “Information, and a potential request.” He breathed, mortal and human and painstakingly flawed, pondering where to gesture and implore first. “I wanted to know if Kiada made it to Mort.” If her soul was there, safe and tucked away, out of the lava plumes, out of pain and misery; or if he’d have to hunt her down in those regions too. Then he could ask about LongNight, about Ru’in, about the quest never completed. “And if Hotaru is there as well.” A hard swallow, to wonder, to ponder, if the Valkyrie had wandered off into the midst, never to be seen again, until he’d passed, another to mourn, to shatter within, to break apart – or if she hid now too, out of sight, out of mind. If there were other family members still remaining, just not yearning to be found.
The toys appeared to be taken in aplomb, and so the residual weight in his chest altered, slightly, going through the list of reasons why he was here. Why he asked for the herald of death, and not the one of life. “Information, and a potential request.” He breathed, mortal and human and painstakingly flawed, pondering where to gesture and implore first. “I wanted to know if Kiada made it to Mort.” If her soul was there, safe and tucked away, out of the lava plumes, out of pain and misery; or if he’d have to hunt her down in those regions too. Then he could ask about LongNight, about Ru’in, about the quest never completed. “And if Hotaru is there as well.” A hard swallow, to wonder, to ponder, if the Valkyrie had wandered off into the midst, never to be seen again, until he’d passed, another to mourn, to shatter within, to break apart – or if she hid now too, out of sight, out of mind. If there were other family members still remaining, just not yearning to be found.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
