DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
From his crouch and contemplation of the water, peering deeper into its depths by simple curiosity alone, his eyes lifted back up to survey the Ascended. He didn’t begrudge the fringes and boundaries laden in those tones, presumed there was a line being drawn in between where to go and what to say. A tangible, off-limits thread, unseen but hovering, there along the embankments. So he offered a single nod and word. “Ru.” As if that would explain it, and be the end of it. Ru had found him. Ru had explained the saga. Ru had stayed, because he’d always offered a safety net, a shelter, a sanctuary, for those he held close. But it wouldn’t go any further from his mouth – harboring the secrets at least in Halo’s adornments. He could only imagine Torchline’s proclivity for gossip.
The alteration in subjects came soon enough, and on boyish inquiry, his hands sifted through stones and pebbles along the shore. Nearly a mimicy of Nate’s movements – perhaps worlds hadn’t been so far apart after all – following through on a game that required no forethought. Finding a particularly smooth one, he held it in his palm, adjusting it length-wise along his fingertips, until the callouses found the right path. Then he flung it, watching as it skipped along the veneer several times, before coming to fall below the surface. He waited for a moment, pondering if they’d disturbed something, if some newfound monster was going to rise from the brink, and when it remained vigilant and still, the Sword’s attention went back to Nate.
“Good,” he surmised. “At least something was beneficial.” His gaze narrowed, not at the demigod, but at the world in particular. Conversations with Wessex echoed in his mind, and he pushed them aside for all the exasperation and frustration warring away. “The monsters are all defeated then?” Another rock, another stone, pooled across the surface, and dipped thereafter to find its cousin.
The alteration in subjects came soon enough, and on boyish inquiry, his hands sifted through stones and pebbles along the shore. Nearly a mimicy of Nate’s movements – perhaps worlds hadn’t been so far apart after all – following through on a game that required no forethought. Finding a particularly smooth one, he held it in his palm, adjusting it length-wise along his fingertips, until the callouses found the right path. Then he flung it, watching as it skipped along the veneer several times, before coming to fall below the surface. He waited for a moment, pondering if they’d disturbed something, if some newfound monster was going to rise from the brink, and when it remained vigilant and still, the Sword’s attention went back to Nate.
“Good,” he surmised. “At least something was beneficial.” His gaze narrowed, not at the demigod, but at the world in particular. Conversations with Wessex echoed in his mind, and he pushed them aside for all the exasperation and frustration warring away. “The monsters are all defeated then?” Another rock, another stone, pooled across the surface, and dipped thereafter to find its cousin.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
