It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
He left the rest of the topic alone – in dredges and dregs, marooned and harpooned elsewhere. Instead, likely as Belial intended, the subject seemed to shift entirely to the flying deer, on inky, Stygian wings, on talons for hind feet, on the whims of yet another carnivorous thing in the Sword’s soul.
A sentiment of wild, untamed enthusiasm threaded through him, and it certainly wasn’t Deimos’ emotions, but that of the peryton. He glided down right before Kiada on a very daring, adamant, and audacious display, plumage flaring outward, striving to gauge a reaction. Fear? Maybe he yearned to be intimidating, to be daunting, to be perilous and terrifying.
Save for his size, which was quite a bit smaller than Zuriel.
To which the unicorn snorted, making her way over, not wanting to be left out of the participation in attention seeking. Her maw came to rest on Kiada’s shoulder while they walked, slowly proceeding back towards the Citadel.
The statement thereafter though caused the General’s wake to alter abruptly, head snaking and twisting back towards the Harpy, a stifled sort of breath sitting in his lungs. It pooled outward on warm plumes, and then came to rest in the annals of his ribs and heart. “How is she?” He identified the ruminations thereafter as relief - he’d known she was alive, but not where, not how.
A sentiment of wild, untamed enthusiasm threaded through him, and it certainly wasn’t Deimos’ emotions, but that of the peryton. He glided down right before Kiada on a very daring, adamant, and audacious display, plumage flaring outward, striving to gauge a reaction. Fear? Maybe he yearned to be intimidating, to be daunting, to be perilous and terrifying.
Save for his size, which was quite a bit smaller than Zuriel.
To which the unicorn snorted, making her way over, not wanting to be left out of the participation in attention seeking. Her maw came to rest on Kiada’s shoulder while they walked, slowly proceeding back towards the Citadel.
The statement thereafter though caused the General’s wake to alter abruptly, head snaking and twisting back towards the Harpy, a stifled sort of breath sitting in his lungs. It pooled outward on warm plumes, and then came to rest in the annals of his ribs and heart. “How is she?” He identified the ruminations thereafter as relief - he’d known she was alive, but not where, not how.
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
