DEIMOS
Zuriel sniffed, snorted, at having her space by the fire invaded, and made no other inclination to move – the imperial rise of her noble cranium, combined with an incredulous manner of pride, made the Sword roll his eyes, but he left her and Aisha to battle it out over the hearth. At the rumble from the leopard, he tossed his ningo next to hers too, retrieving a sack from one of the closets. “We can use the feathers for something else.” Everything to be put to use in some form, naught wasted. Laden it with down, with warmth, combine it with other hunting efforts, and hide the evidence from Chulane at a later event. Leaving Aisha to her task, he wandered along the front parlor, tying his hair back, and obtaining two hunting knives, to cut away contortions and proportions they might not otherwise crave. On another contemplation, he obtained two spits as well, to roast the birds right over the blazing fire, before winding his way back, sitting near the leopard, coaxed and enticed by the inferno too, picking up the plumage already fallen to the floor. “What have you been up to in the Grounds?” Presuming she’d taken one last tour, one last round, one last dedicated refrain around the world, around the land, they both used to guard.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
