DEIMOS
He watched Zuriel from the corner of his eyes fail to relinquish her spot. Perhaps the two were already sorted – though he witnessed the mare stretch out her forelegs to gain more access and room, ensuring her claimed position remained justifiably so. Thereafter, with feathers plucked and placed within the sack, his gaze went to the ceiling, thinking, mulling over the directions in which Aisha had wandered. Training, lessons, exploring, keeping up with the manor (another building they should’ve burnt down when they had a chance, in his vengeful opinion), seemed agreeable with her – and at least she’d avoided the onslaughts, the beck and call of terror, the constant, overwhelming strife. The last statement caused him to muffle another round of laughter, quietly tucking it back into his chest. Instead, as his gaze and head bowed downward, taking hold of one of the thoroughly plucked animals, and conjuring a surface before him to work upon, he figured it wouldn’t be the strangest of things. Better a talking feline than a monster spiraling from pools, the earth, or wherever else they happened to roam. A semblance of mocking tones, clearly meant to insinuate in his dry humor, rumbled along the hearth, followed her attuned bombardments. “A talkative cat. Strange.” The juvenile grin established thereafter said all it needed to, before he angled, tilted his head, cutting apart portions of the bird, meaning to place it upon its designated spit without the unnecessary proportions. They’d be saved too. And all along his mind wandered, piecing together what it meant to be in repose again, a refuge in the halls and parlor, with friends who weren’t gone. “And what did it say?”
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
