DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The sun rose, and time ticked away. Instead of alternating between apprehension, hovering, and harpooning his way through the void and along the intricacies of the dawn haze, he spent his morning as he’d had over the previous season. Routine, save for the glancing back and forth from the windows and along the Citadel gates, hoping to catch signs of movement, of motion, before retreating to the desk, hanging his head, and starting the process of paperwork, meetings, and placing his thoughts away from the potential cataclysms.
But they still lingered, and his concentration and focus wavered.
By the time the door opened, his head was bowed over a series of documents he’d read three times for simple comprehension. The Sword didn’t glance up, making several notations along the sides, until the familiar voice contorted over his senses, and the sharpened stare fixed, pinpointed, on Morgan. Returned, survived.
Visible relief slid down the angles of his shoulders, as if he was no longer holding up the world, and a sigh funneled its way through his nares, a snort following through on her words. Deimos vacated the seat, the desk, instantly, maneuvering out of its depths as if it had stung him, permitting her to take it all once more. “Not at all. They are yours again.” His hands went towards the stacks of papers he’d already organized, intending to detail them out to her, when the inquiry rounded out along the office. “How was LongNight?”
But they still lingered, and his concentration and focus wavered.
By the time the door opened, his head was bowed over a series of documents he’d read three times for simple comprehension. The Sword didn’t glance up, making several notations along the sides, until the familiar voice contorted over his senses, and the sharpened stare fixed, pinpointed, on Morgan. Returned, survived.
Visible relief slid down the angles of his shoulders, as if he was no longer holding up the world, and a sigh funneled its way through his nares, a snort following through on her words. Deimos vacated the seat, the desk, instantly, maneuvering out of its depths as if it had stung him, permitting her to take it all once more. “Not at all. They are yours again.” His hands went towards the stacks of papers he’d already organized, intending to detail them out to her, when the inquiry rounded out along the office. “How was LongNight?”
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
