I carried my own ashes to the mountains
The Sword’s eyes went towards the outline on the horizon once more – listening all the while, as he stared upon the expanse of rolling hills, barrows burying something, portions of the world they’d once tried to explore and receiving naught in return. That it was all before them was some other semblance of a gift; stretching beyond their means and measures, and exposing them to another kind of disarray for the future. But he appreciated it for the inquiry, for the knowledge, for the insatiable drive of curiosity laden within his soul – seeking out the unknown, paying homage to the sagacity that came before, and now.
But the how – how the tempests came apart, unraveled, and ceased, how they’d been cleared and departed, still remained a mystery to him. His brows furrowed, concentration contorting, resting there in the ridges, in the absentminded way his hand came to rest in Zuriel’s mane. “Another group tried after ours. They attempted to move underground as well, but did not get very far either.” Deimos’ machinations conspired and curled, never quite resisting the balance of scheming and wondering, recalling Loren’s other insinuations. “Supposedly they felt something in the earth.” And Caido being Caido, that meant anything and everything – from uncanny monsters to wholesome, charitable burros. Thwarted, once more, by the platitudes of potential destruction and treachery. “So I am not certain how this all came to be.” They could surmise all they wanted – inclinations reeling towards the Voice or some other circumstances – but the uncertainty only brewed and hastened further into his midst.
But the how – how the tempests came apart, unraveled, and ceased, how they’d been cleared and departed, still remained a mystery to him. His brows furrowed, concentration contorting, resting there in the ridges, in the absentminded way his hand came to rest in Zuriel’s mane. “Another group tried after ours. They attempted to move underground as well, but did not get very far either.” Deimos’ machinations conspired and curled, never quite resisting the balance of scheming and wondering, recalling Loren’s other insinuations. “Supposedly they felt something in the earth.” And Caido being Caido, that meant anything and everything – from uncanny monsters to wholesome, charitable burros. Thwarted, once more, by the platitudes of potential destruction and treachery. “So I am not certain how this all came to be.” They could surmise all they wanted – inclinations reeling towards the Voice or some other circumstances – but the uncertainty only brewed and hastened further into his midst.
DEIMOS
