this is the reckoning
Based on the hunter’s reaction, the ritual seemed to convey significant meaning. Deimos could recall similar rites and ceremonial inflections along the Moonlit Tides, but they weren’t so similar in nature towards maiming of creatures; rather in the skill in seeing how far one could go. If they could touch particular stones as they made their way out to sea, proving their endurance, their fortitude, their might, each time they wound their way past. No youth born beside the ocean was worth their salt if they couldn’t bear the waves, move with the current, oblige the ocean’s strength, adhere to its mastery, its dominance, and its compelling force. That was how they’d learned to be such themselves; an early, early instilling in a young boy’s mind, and the strength that had formed his limbs, his spirit, his heart, his soul.
His father and mother had watched too – and like most children, he’d yearned to make them proud.
Who knew if that even maintained its weight now.
Deimos could’ve dug deeper, asked about families and histories, but he wondered if it was too much to pry into. So he smiled in return, an off-hand, half-grin that only reached one side of his mouth, before glancing back at the open chest of the bear.
So he’d abide by tradition, in his own way.
The hellhound alterations came again, far more fierce and ferocious and bloodthirsty in its carnivorous aspects, taking hold of the heart in his mouth with little fanfare. No obliging decorum. No demonstration or serenade. Then he bit down, taking hold of a part, the flesh in his mouth, and then sliding down his throat; the rendering complete – by a great show of his empty jaw.
His father and mother had watched too – and like most children, he’d yearned to make them proud.
Who knew if that even maintained its weight now.
Deimos could’ve dug deeper, asked about families and histories, but he wondered if it was too much to pry into. So he smiled in return, an off-hand, half-grin that only reached one side of his mouth, before glancing back at the open chest of the bear.
So he’d abide by tradition, in his own way.
The hellhound alterations came again, far more fierce and ferocious and bloodthirsty in its carnivorous aspects, taking hold of the heart in his mouth with little fanfare. No obliging decorum. No demonstration or serenade. Then he bit down, taking hold of a part, the flesh in his mouth, and then sliding down his throat; the rendering complete – by a great show of his empty jaw.
DEIMOS
