DEIMOS
what tried to destroy you
didn't have the strength
didn't have the strength
Last LongHeat had him mostly incapacitated, mourning, ill, and out of his mind; so this one was already an improvement. No setting fires. No hallucinations amidst wanderings. No lost notions, no ghosts – save for the ones he kept close at hand, eternally in the back of his mind. There were hundreds of thoughts still marauding and maligning in his flesh and bone, for he likely never quite ceased, and with the passing of time came an increase in fortitude, in turning, in churning, over new boundaries and fringes. In what to do next.
The warmth of the sun was different too – and more than once he’d glanced out along the eaves of the barracks with a seditious sort of envy – until eventually all of them, him and his soldiers alike, caved into the possibilities of a break, and rambled off in various directions. Furs and overcoats peeled away, something that only happened when they were laboring and fighting, permitted to be grounded in the warmth of the sun; rarer and rarer still. They took their opportunities with laughter and merriment, and the General shook his head, but did the same, encouraging his companions to follow along as they trod through familiar streets, closer and closer to the Palace.
Zuriel kept near his side, her haughty nares widening over sights and smells, but Belial, young, intrepid, and foolish, became all the more galvanized as they walked – the Sword raised a brow as the peryton flew swiftly, careening, careening, careening -
A warning did not come soon enough, either from him to his bonded, or to the crouched figure by the gate, straight in the path of the deer. Belial bellowed, probably something outrageously silly, before lightly skimming over her head, and Deimos pressed a sigh into the air. “Apologies for my companion,” he called out towards the stranger (which was bizarre; considering how often he patrolled, there should’ve been some semblance of recognition), while marching towards where Belial had landed – the peryton stomping along the grounds in all manner of mischief.
The warmth of the sun was different too – and more than once he’d glanced out along the eaves of the barracks with a seditious sort of envy – until eventually all of them, him and his soldiers alike, caved into the possibilities of a break, and rambled off in various directions. Furs and overcoats peeled away, something that only happened when they were laboring and fighting, permitted to be grounded in the warmth of the sun; rarer and rarer still. They took their opportunities with laughter and merriment, and the General shook his head, but did the same, encouraging his companions to follow along as they trod through familiar streets, closer and closer to the Palace.
Zuriel kept near his side, her haughty nares widening over sights and smells, but Belial, young, intrepid, and foolish, became all the more galvanized as they walked – the Sword raised a brow as the peryton flew swiftly, careening, careening, careening -
A warning did not come soon enough, either from him to his bonded, or to the crouched figure by the gate, straight in the path of the deer. Belial bellowed, probably something outrageously silly, before lightly skimming over her head, and Deimos pressed a sigh into the air. “Apologies for my companion,” he called out towards the stranger (which was bizarre; considering how often he patrolled, there should’ve been some semblance of recognition), while marching towards where Belial had landed – the peryton stomping along the grounds in all manner of mischief.
still you stand
sturdy and smelling of smoke
sturdy and smelling of smoke
