DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
An argument melded behind his teeth, but it seemed it wouldn’t matter. Depending on inquiries, on notations utilized, they could potentially gain access to more information (if and how the cannibals were still acquiring their hoard, if there were other means and measures to destroy); however, it all seemed to be a moot point. So he listened instead, saved it for another time, another interval, where they might not be so readily exposed, where they had more than just this singular instance to figure out where to go or what to do next. Regardless, they’d received the obvious, disastrous notions that the fiends weren’t quite done. “I will burn it when you are finished.” He said thereafter, stepping out of the threshold, not looking back at the cretin.
No need for this building to stand, nor the other, as he’d assured earlier.
They could wall it away, slide ice into every crack, every bone, every filament, until the creature no longer lingered in mortality, and he could bring the flames over and over and over until there was naught left, but it wouldn’t pierce the rest of it away. Ashes, dust, soot, and nothingness – echoes of actions and iniquity. Only thereafter did he turn to either of the others, a sigh punctured and pierced, the day quite done in. “There is more to be done, but perhaps after some discussion?” An arch of his brow for the pair, but mostly Morgan, shaking his head thereafter, something crawling in the midst of his spine.
He wouldn’t reflect on it now. There were too many other things. Then they could all be on their way, out of the hollows of the disturbing wake.
{FIN}
No need for this building to stand, nor the other, as he’d assured earlier.
They could wall it away, slide ice into every crack, every bone, every filament, until the creature no longer lingered in mortality, and he could bring the flames over and over and over until there was naught left, but it wouldn’t pierce the rest of it away. Ashes, dust, soot, and nothingness – echoes of actions and iniquity. Only thereafter did he turn to either of the others, a sigh punctured and pierced, the day quite done in. “There is more to be done, but perhaps after some discussion?” An arch of his brow for the pair, but mostly Morgan, shaking his head thereafter, something crawling in the midst of his spine.
He wouldn’t reflect on it now. There were too many other things. Then they could all be on their way, out of the hollows of the disturbing wake.
{FIN}
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
