DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
At first, the General’s arch of a brow in Neron’s direction had been one of brief bewilderment, taking the initial statement at face-value (and wondering how anyone had called him broody when the Hailstorm uttered such things out loud). When it shifted into jocular measures, the other brow shot upwards, and then he shrugged, snorting the nuances away with half a smile. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be one to discount Halovians’ bravery aspects, they didn’t seem to be people easily frightened, and would’ve tried to feed more into the humorous aspects.
But they seemed to fade with the blood, with the creaking floor, adjusting his sight to that of his tiger nature, and dimming the flames slightly at Neron’s overt shying away. The smell that permeated and pervaded though reminded him solely of battlefield tents, soldiers with medical precision cutting away at wounded limbs, cauterizing lacerations, and then those too broken to be saved –
His eyes narrowed, glancing over Morgan’s shoulder as the corpses were revealed, looking downward for a moment, and then backing off, flickering into a narrowed gaze and clenched jaw. “We can mark the ones the worst off,” he mentioned, by way of suggestion, keeping the bile down, down, down, too many reminders coiling in the background. “And then decide what to do from there.” The ones that could be salvaged, and those like this, with nothing left to save. How many would amount to the same? How many weren't so ready to be discarded? But he could burn them if they deemed it necessary – he’d done it before.
But they seemed to fade with the blood, with the creaking floor, adjusting his sight to that of his tiger nature, and dimming the flames slightly at Neron’s overt shying away. The smell that permeated and pervaded though reminded him solely of battlefield tents, soldiers with medical precision cutting away at wounded limbs, cauterizing lacerations, and then those too broken to be saved –
His eyes narrowed, glancing over Morgan’s shoulder as the corpses were revealed, looking downward for a moment, and then backing off, flickering into a narrowed gaze and clenched jaw. “We can mark the ones the worst off,” he mentioned, by way of suggestion, keeping the bile down, down, down, too many reminders coiling in the background. “And then decide what to do from there.” The ones that could be salvaged, and those like this, with nothing left to save. How many would amount to the same? How many weren't so ready to be discarded? But he could burn them if they deemed it necessary – he’d done it before.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
