DEIMOS
what tried to destroy you
didn't have the strength
didn't have the strength
The Sword wouldn’t give himself any form of credit in knowing Noah best; the hunter was vastly similar to himself in the ways of quiet, muted thoughts – and he could only recall formations of kindness from the man’s actions, and few, parsed words. But at the very least, she appeared to give it some rationale thought, rather than going all in – a suitable pause, and he nodded, acknowledging her attempts. “That would probably be best.” And then she could see if the councilman even wanted a gift.
His head bowed back down, tracing over formations of what were meant to be streaks of color embedded along the tops of the summits; as if coated in the aurora hues, when she thanked him. The piercing slate of his eyes rounded back up, the soft smile there again. Patience and composure had long since formed the backbone of his existence – how he lived and breathed, how he survived and sculpted, how he chipped away and renewed all over again. Whether it was in the midst of battle, or simply in moments like these, gathering proportions of strangers with all their other nuances and experiences. “You are welcome,” and he nodded once more, solidifying the aspect.
But then he didn’t expect the next question, and the measures of his smile dissipated into something else. Brows furrowed, the geniality forming back into a more reticent gaze, contemplating how best to answer the inquiry. Morgan had made her opinion known when they’d last encountered Remi. He didn’t blame her. It was safer, to remain neutral. But he figured it wasn’t likely to last, given aspects of the world, of the heralds, of the deities. “I stand with the Old Gods, though I have nothing against the Ascended.” Simply the Voice. An opinion formed by the progress and notions of assembled souls – and the goddess who held reign over them. “We will have to see how Halo, or any other lands, become involved when the time comes.”
His head bowed back down, tracing over formations of what were meant to be streaks of color embedded along the tops of the summits; as if coated in the aurora hues, when she thanked him. The piercing slate of his eyes rounded back up, the soft smile there again. Patience and composure had long since formed the backbone of his existence – how he lived and breathed, how he survived and sculpted, how he chipped away and renewed all over again. Whether it was in the midst of battle, or simply in moments like these, gathering proportions of strangers with all their other nuances and experiences. “You are welcome,” and he nodded once more, solidifying the aspect.
But then he didn’t expect the next question, and the measures of his smile dissipated into something else. Brows furrowed, the geniality forming back into a more reticent gaze, contemplating how best to answer the inquiry. Morgan had made her opinion known when they’d last encountered Remi. He didn’t blame her. It was safer, to remain neutral. But he figured it wasn’t likely to last, given aspects of the world, of the heralds, of the deities. “I stand with the Old Gods, though I have nothing against the Ascended.” Simply the Voice. An opinion formed by the progress and notions of assembled souls – and the goddess who held reign over them. “We will have to see how Halo, or any other lands, become involved when the time comes.”
still you stand
sturdy and smelling of smoke
sturdy and smelling of smoke
