Rage, maybe rage would lift me up
The seal hovered over a thread and school of fish now, watching the angle of their shining scales, witnessing the pattern of their movements, biding his time out of a natural composure. When he spotted several weakened ones along the back, he sped through the depths, bursts of raw energy and power, before scooping them in between fangs, dangerously amused by the spiral of vehemence. Bridging his way to the surface, and dropping off the gilled creatures at the rock, he found the area filling quite well, and not much more to go before the baskets would be towering to the brim; adequate food for the Citadel and its inhabitants.
Then he lingered back in the water, following the cycle, endurance building back up again from the sickness, heart and lungs and soul ready to tackle earthen fathoms and strong, enduring depths. The Flood’s comment and response ensued a snort, then a proclamation. But you were willing. Even if no one else had been, the platitude towards making Torchline better, brighter, and stronger (perhaps; he wasn’t certain what Sunjata’s ideals actually were, political or otherwise) had fallen upon his prepared shoulders, rather than leaving the land into dust and ruin. Maybe it would go there anyway; but he wasn’t evading a thankless occupation, or bristling against the responsibility levied around him. He thought back to other aspects they’d discussed, and it somehow managed to wind forwards and back to those lingering in the Greatwood (because the General was insatiably curious, and honestly would yearn to be a cretin in the shadows, bearing witness to whatever was coming). I hear the Fae are interested in holding a trial over the Ascended.
Then he lingered back in the water, following the cycle, endurance building back up again from the sickness, heart and lungs and soul ready to tackle earthen fathoms and strong, enduring depths. The Flood’s comment and response ensued a snort, then a proclamation. But you were willing. Even if no one else had been, the platitude towards making Torchline better, brighter, and stronger (perhaps; he wasn’t certain what Sunjata’s ideals actually were, political or otherwise) had fallen upon his prepared shoulders, rather than leaving the land into dust and ruin. Maybe it would go there anyway; but he wasn’t evading a thankless occupation, or bristling against the responsibility levied around him. He thought back to other aspects they’d discussed, and it somehow managed to wind forwards and back to those lingering in the Greatwood (because the General was insatiably curious, and honestly would yearn to be a cretin in the shadows, bearing witness to whatever was coming). I hear the Fae are interested in holding a trial over the Ascended.
DEIMOS
