so are the cannibals still a thing or

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Unaware of any other swarming motions, notions, or emotions, the monolith remained in his impassive, reticence stance, head tilting vaguely to insinuate he was listening to the stances and history behind the abandoned outskirts. He was familiar with the weight of punishments, of banishments, of similar inklings they’d orchestrate amidst the Basin (though more often than not, it’d been him as the ominous, Reaper wake, delivering one warning before tossing someone down a mountain), and there was some aspect of agreement and accord with the situation at hand. Why not utilize it for several purposes? With enough foundations, buildings, and keeping them occupied with capable, stalwart, and steadfast beings, the potential for turning cannibals away, and maintaining a semblance of order here was all the more compelling. “I do not see why we could not have all of those.”

The Shields could take shifts. The hunters could have some place accessible along the tundra, and not have to hurry back to the Citadel or worry about staying out for longer periods of time. A gaol to ensure aspects of retribution were signified, noted, and understood. So he nodded and hastened his agreement with the prospects – and determining factors could likely rest in what actually still withstood the wake.

So he threaded through much like them, long, sweeping strides carrying him through the snow, intending to dig further into what needed to be done.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead