DEIMOS
Deimos hadn’t spent much time in the throngs of nature’s heralds; more drawn to the life and death perplexities. Instead, he’d been immersed in the flora and fauna created, contorted, by Rae and their intricate oblivion, fighting or distorting, discovering or hastening. The Sword couldn’t be certain if Chulane would obtain the information he sought – if Rae would answer, if Frey would divine knowledge and sagacity, if the immortal ebb and flow would even be bothered to receive and deign such a request. And the Ascended – a sharpened notion in the back of his mind curled and contorted there. Was there a way to destroy the Voice, without it harming the kin she kept chained, tied, and tethered to her? Would they be altered? Changed? Or caught in the oblivion too?
Interesting propositions and intermingled notions – and Chulane had every ambition, aspiration, notched into his soul. The eagle nodded, growing restless, plumage unwinding. Let me know if you find anything about the Ascended. They had similar investments and interests in a singular Harpy anyway.
Then they could be off, departing from the firling, making way for new tidings and waves.
{FIN}
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
