DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Belial was quite content with the scratches, leaning directly into her space with little care; Deimos huffed a silent warning through their connection, and the peryton lifted one brow with utter indifference. But then the Sword’s attentions fell to Kiada’s actions, to what she’d been doing, orchestrating, since LongNight, presumptions pressed into the correct niches. It was the last one that gave him pause though – because he did remember, recall, the note left behind, and the way he’d placed it apprehensively across his desk, uncertain of the implications, of what she’d find, of how she’d react. So instead of prying deeper, of digging where it likely wouldn’t be of use, and certainly open up another stitched wound, his eyes found hers, the piercing gaze gentle and drawn into repose. “Did it help?” To stare upon the section of where one perished? He couldn’t be certain. He’d never been capable of trying it. The embankments lining the segments of his last breaths and final heartbeats were long gone.
Deimos took the subject alteration with a lift of a brow and nothing more, managing a brief snort, glancing ahead along the streamlined path of market stalls yet to close for the evening. “Been to the Wilds. Had a very long discussion with Safrin. Listened to Ru. Had conversations with Sunjata and Nate. Helped with things for the greenhouse.” An inward wince; given the other predilections launched in between, and how he’d been told to relax. There was probably more he’d been forgetting or neglecting – not as large in scale. But the monolith figured she’d pick one or two to focus on.
Deimos took the subject alteration with a lift of a brow and nothing more, managing a brief snort, glancing ahead along the streamlined path of market stalls yet to close for the evening. “Been to the Wilds. Had a very long discussion with Safrin. Listened to Ru. Had conversations with Sunjata and Nate. Helped with things for the greenhouse.” An inward wince; given the other predilections launched in between, and how he’d been told to relax. There was probably more he’d been forgetting or neglecting – not as large in scale. But the monolith figured she’d pick one or two to focus on.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
