I carried my own ashes to the mountains
For all his abilities to slowly, painstakingly erode, some changes were rapid, far more fluid, immediate.
The General patrolled, but the Warden took in everything; the sights, the sounds, the ambience, the cluster of corners, the hindrance of walls, the ramparts rising into winter’s release, and strived, tried, to not be suffocated under the notions of another time, another place. And when it grew far too stifling, he walked the edges, tracing over the alleys, the streets he’d managed to memorize, remember, reflect upon, recall. The pressure, the overwhelming conflagrations pressing in on his shoulders were all his own, and he recognized it, knew the weight of its worth, and attempted to shake it off in the midst of the world around him, rather than suffocating from within.
His eyes went to the bizarre tree again, marked in the center. More individuals were clustered around it, apparently enraptured, beguiled, or enticed. He merely watched from a distance, the curious tilt to his head betraying whatever mask of indifference had sequestered itself over his features. On principle, and experience, he was suspicious of it. It had yet to emerge as some ominous threat. It had done naught to indicate an impending, overwhelming strike upon them. And now, it seemed others had been placing some trinkets and baubles on the branches, and they didn’t appear to press the boughs downward. Instead, it maintained semblances of strength, remaining upright in its warbling, willowy sanctions when others pressed upon it.
Deimos couldn’t quite fathom, understand its necessity, its regard, its existence; but he advanced just the same, wandering a bit closer – the inquiring nature of his mind betraying the reaches of reticence.
The General patrolled, but the Warden took in everything; the sights, the sounds, the ambience, the cluster of corners, the hindrance of walls, the ramparts rising into winter’s release, and strived, tried, to not be suffocated under the notions of another time, another place. And when it grew far too stifling, he walked the edges, tracing over the alleys, the streets he’d managed to memorize, remember, reflect upon, recall. The pressure, the overwhelming conflagrations pressing in on his shoulders were all his own, and he recognized it, knew the weight of its worth, and attempted to shake it off in the midst of the world around him, rather than suffocating from within.
His eyes went to the bizarre tree again, marked in the center. More individuals were clustered around it, apparently enraptured, beguiled, or enticed. He merely watched from a distance, the curious tilt to his head betraying whatever mask of indifference had sequestered itself over his features. On principle, and experience, he was suspicious of it. It had yet to emerge as some ominous threat. It had done naught to indicate an impending, overwhelming strike upon them. And now, it seemed others had been placing some trinkets and baubles on the branches, and they didn’t appear to press the boughs downward. Instead, it maintained semblances of strength, remaining upright in its warbling, willowy sanctions when others pressed upon it.
Deimos couldn’t quite fathom, understand its necessity, its regard, its existence; but he advanced just the same, wandering a bit closer – the inquiring nature of his mind betraying the reaches of reticence.
DEIMOS
