DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Success for the leopard meant far more to the General than the wound pulsing and beating down his side – striving to forgo, to forget. Just like another laceration, another beating, he’d taken on the battlefield, too many times to count. Foe after foe, enemy after enemy, adversary after adversary. So he stood there, immersed in the snow for a moment, plumes of breath curling and coiling from his nares, inhale and exhale tightly controlled; keeping his composition intact, relenting only on the notions of blood for blood. Terror for terror. The ursur had sentenced itself already.
Aisha’s response confirmed his stance with a nod. You’re okay. Push it all aside. Grit one’s teeth and bear it. He’d done this before. He’d do it again.
He was fine (and how many times did one say it before it became a lie? A truth?).
Age-old machinations and calculations rendered once more – quick, scrutinizing, tactical glances, hackles raised, motions beginning anew. He’d be slower too, but maybe his motions would be enough. Zuriel was down below the ridge, and when this was over he could mend, and the efforts would be worth it. Determination renewed, wrapped, corded, coiled in the feral, savage nuances of his nefarious abilities, of the Reaper blending with the Sword, he launched.
It was not the most graceful, elegant, poised leap – not with his injured flank. But it did the job, as his jaws came around the back of the ursur’s neck, where the tusks and teeth couldn’t reach, where it roared and bellowed, where it echoed and howled. His weight, his bulk, would be enough to pin the portion of the bear downward without being flung around from side to side, providing Aisha another opportunity. Another chance.
Aisha’s response confirmed his stance with a nod. You’re okay. Push it all aside. Grit one’s teeth and bear it. He’d done this before. He’d do it again.
He was fine (and how many times did one say it before it became a lie? A truth?).
Age-old machinations and calculations rendered once more – quick, scrutinizing, tactical glances, hackles raised, motions beginning anew. He’d be slower too, but maybe his motions would be enough. Zuriel was down below the ridge, and when this was over he could mend, and the efforts would be worth it. Determination renewed, wrapped, corded, coiled in the feral, savage nuances of his nefarious abilities, of the Reaper blending with the Sword, he launched.
It was not the most graceful, elegant, poised leap – not with his injured flank. But it did the job, as his jaws came around the back of the ursur’s neck, where the tusks and teeth couldn’t reach, where it roared and bellowed, where it echoed and howled. His weight, his bulk, would be enough to pin the portion of the bear downward without being flung around from side to side, providing Aisha another opportunity. Another chance.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
