DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
More walks over Torchline sand, more elements and filaments to ponder, wonder, seethe, sink, or swim over – a glance to the darkness, to the horizon suddenly flickering and bobbing with lights, with souls, and a part of him only wanted to stop, to stare, to see if he could catch a glimpse of one he knew. Of those he cherished, loved, and missed. Temptation to not join the bonfire, to stay and linger, to cease and desist.
But he couldn’t – he couldn’t stay amongst the dead. Not while he was still living.
It’d been a difficult, hard concept for him to learn, and it slowly wound around his mind, as Zuriel bumped him forward from his back, her head pressing against his spine, gentle but apparent in her request for him not to stray. Not to go back again. Not to pause for too long, not to be so lost and adrift in the shells, in the shackles, in the ties, and in the tethers.
So the Sword wandered forward, catching glimpses of those he knew, nodding as he threaded his way towards portions of the surrounding areas not yet taken. Old habits urged him to find a place in the back, to eclipse back into shadow, and he compromised by gleaning close to a boundary, as though biding his time to escape. On the way by, the General lowered his doll amongst the others – made to bear an impression of Kiada, with flames going up and down the spine of the rags, with swirls of harpy feathers embroidered across the vestiges; for the herald she favored.
But he couldn’t – he couldn’t stay amongst the dead. Not while he was still living.
It’d been a difficult, hard concept for him to learn, and it slowly wound around his mind, as Zuriel bumped him forward from his back, her head pressing against his spine, gentle but apparent in her request for him not to stray. Not to go back again. Not to pause for too long, not to be so lost and adrift in the shells, in the shackles, in the ties, and in the tethers.
So the Sword wandered forward, catching glimpses of those he knew, nodding as he threaded his way towards portions of the surrounding areas not yet taken. Old habits urged him to find a place in the back, to eclipse back into shadow, and he compromised by gleaning close to a boundary, as though biding his time to escape. On the way by, the General lowered his doll amongst the others – made to bear an impression of Kiada, with flames going up and down the spine of the rags, with swirls of harpy feathers embroidered across the vestiges; for the herald she favored.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
