DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
There was a semblance of freedom in the pursuit, in the hunt, in the blend of intrinsic, ingrained movements and minds. Second nature, in any of his forms, to blister against the elements, to scrape upon the background, to pierce and demolish, to devastate and ruin. This wasn’t without purpose – he’d never been a beast to slaughter without reason (even amidst the Basin; a colossus of distortion and melee, of shadows and strife, but only to those who ignored warnings, who proceeded straight into ominous threats). Deer for provisions, for supplies, for food would be an ample need in Halo, especially with the coldest months looming on the horizon. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it, savor the moments for what they were worth, easing into the predilections, sending the amusements laden between bonds, searing over the connections as he spied into the distance. It’d been a long time since he’d been permitted, outside of afflictions and sicknesses, outside of grief, anguish, and despair, to merely relish predacious commitments.
An ear flickered in her direction, and he listened, slowly lowering himself to hover over the ground in quiet, hushed, meticulous strides. There was no need for bounding measures yet, no need to explode into an impact of muscles and teeth; the calm before the storm. He might’ve snorted at her exhilaration, but understood it too – sharing a composed, calculating air through the attuned adornments, restless in his wake, waiting, waiting, waiting at her instruction, silent in the evening sprawl.
Bat wings and eerie, enigmatic quandaries likely drove the deer towards him – a prey animal prone to panic, to long, illustrious leaps and not very keen intellect. As a heathen in the tall grass, he was keen to watch and bear witness, to pick apart the animals one by one as they drove past, as they maintained a herd mentality and instinct. He, like most predators, wouldn’t be going for the mightiest or the strongest; but the infirm, feeble, weakened, or merely bewildered.
An elder doe, for example, cast towards the back, and incapable of keeping up with her frenetic group. The older one he noted, his turn to direct, pick, and choose. Then he was a launching mass of motion, a vicious, unrelenting force, intended precision and cataclysms, claws reaching for the deer’s left side.
An ear flickered in her direction, and he listened, slowly lowering himself to hover over the ground in quiet, hushed, meticulous strides. There was no need for bounding measures yet, no need to explode into an impact of muscles and teeth; the calm before the storm. He might’ve snorted at her exhilaration, but understood it too – sharing a composed, calculating air through the attuned adornments, restless in his wake, waiting, waiting, waiting at her instruction, silent in the evening sprawl.
Bat wings and eerie, enigmatic quandaries likely drove the deer towards him – a prey animal prone to panic, to long, illustrious leaps and not very keen intellect. As a heathen in the tall grass, he was keen to watch and bear witness, to pick apart the animals one by one as they drove past, as they maintained a herd mentality and instinct. He, like most predators, wouldn’t be going for the mightiest or the strongest; but the infirm, feeble, weakened, or merely bewildered.
An elder doe, for example, cast towards the back, and incapable of keeping up with her frenetic group. The older one he noted, his turn to direct, pick, and choose. Then he was a launching mass of motion, a vicious, unrelenting force, intended precision and cataclysms, claws reaching for the deer’s left side.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
