I carried my own ashes to the mountains
The griffin was a kind little thing, and the General smiled through the measures of his Attuned reaches, extending a thank you in regards to the companion, as she offered a portion to Belial, the pouting deer. While Zuriel sniffed and made a dramatic head toss to show her unimpressed nature, Deimos tossed his own kill towards the peryton, and together the pair could eat in relative ease.
Thereafter though, it seemed their time in shifts was up, and he followed suit, mobilizing back into his residual, monolithic figure, striding over towards where his unicorn was grazing. Removing the bag from her, and placing it over his shoulder, Deimos had to realize he didn’t anticipate the measures suddenly coming from Noah. The Sword had thought nothing of the distraction in the midst of conversation, as he’d been more than content to oblige in hunting, in preying upon masses, in miniscule measures of combat, even in avenues of exploration. It was normal, nearly, especially when he and Aisha wandered together, to maul and brutalize without a second notion.
But he’d always been a predator the majority of his life; honed like a blade, like an armament, like a weapon, from an early age. “You will receive no judgment from me,” Deimos permitted with an arch of his brow, the lighter tones of a muffled laugh. Reassurance, perhaps. It took nothing more than a moment for him to ever linger in the stead of those ravenous eaves; but it had been the way he’d always been. Scarcely any adjustments needed to be made – thriving instantly on the fringes, boundaries, and edges of rapacious creatures. Just another form in his abhorrent, contemptuous, savage haze. And while they meandered, starting again, his brows furrowed slightly, in traces of notions and curiosity. “What is it like to be immersed in prey instincts?”
Thereafter though, it seemed their time in shifts was up, and he followed suit, mobilizing back into his residual, monolithic figure, striding over towards where his unicorn was grazing. Removing the bag from her, and placing it over his shoulder, Deimos had to realize he didn’t anticipate the measures suddenly coming from Noah. The Sword had thought nothing of the distraction in the midst of conversation, as he’d been more than content to oblige in hunting, in preying upon masses, in miniscule measures of combat, even in avenues of exploration. It was normal, nearly, especially when he and Aisha wandered together, to maul and brutalize without a second notion.
But he’d always been a predator the majority of his life; honed like a blade, like an armament, like a weapon, from an early age. “You will receive no judgment from me,” Deimos permitted with an arch of his brow, the lighter tones of a muffled laugh. Reassurance, perhaps. It took nothing more than a moment for him to ever linger in the stead of those ravenous eaves; but it had been the way he’d always been. Scarcely any adjustments needed to be made – thriving instantly on the fringes, boundaries, and edges of rapacious creatures. Just another form in his abhorrent, contemptuous, savage haze. And while they meandered, starting again, his brows furrowed slightly, in traces of notions and curiosity. “What is it like to be immersed in prey instincts?”
DEIMOS
