[se] lone fragments

Deimos The actual thought of rest, vacations, and breaks made his shoulders straighten and trepidation increase, so the General of Halo wandered into wayward branches and brambles of a different sort. Memories, never distant, had long since framed the Miana Pool before him – a time, a place, where they’d gathered together in effort to salvage some proportion for the L’ma; wherever it rested now. His eyes peered over the edge as he sat along the brim, legs dangling into the crystal clear water – but all he caught were the inklings and hues of brightly colored stones, caught in the rippling patches of sunlight. Belial maneuvered to the brim too, and the Sword snorted, arching a brow to indicate some semblance of a warning. Zuriel, far more accustomed to these wayfaring adventures, kept her distance, pulling at a few roots and shrubs, occupying her time with grazing. Deimos pondered over the rocks, the gems, the well-wishes of another year in Caido. Turning over his palm, instead of searching for something nearby, his earthen wares and creation segments conjured a sharp, crimson stone in the center of his hand. What it was made to represent, he couldn’t quite fathom – and before he could think much more of it, he took a deep breath, wondering where to apply faith. In a rock? In a pool? In something else altogether? He flicked the formation, and watched as it lifted into the air, and fell with a gentle splash. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

A hush came upon a wee little goat... Its blackened spots and larger-than-life humor encouraged the Attuned Faer to cross the distance into some tasty brambles. Sweet leaves could not find a better home than in the grinding teeth of Faer Twas, a vagabond wearing a mischievous mask; exactly parallel to the little maker of mischief them-self!

The Miana Pool laid before them; sentient, breathing, calculating. Faer-goat didn't like it one bit. It taunted them, of a story untold. Of a constant quest to mine thought-gold. They didn't like it one bit.

Though the water was clear as crystal, sublime and chargable as quartz, it mocked the masked wanderer. Filled with wishes. Filled with dreams and long hoped-for loves. And long hoped-for other things. they needn't add.

A being stayed close to the ethereal Pool, not so much noticing Faer, though it surely would not be long before their presence was noted. Moments Faer could not see from this angle, from this spot hiding in the bramble bushes, became known to the eccentric 'pulse' of the world. Whatever it was the being had done, Faer was missing out on it.

Yet, now, the vagabond poet could not be too sure whether this being was to be friend of foe. Faer had been aimlessly finding materials for their new mask -- an absolute abomination of a face, according to the sketches shoved deep in their pockets beneath the shifting magic. It hummed, or so it seemed, reminding Faer that Mort would be kind once again.

Death was everywhere. There was no hiding from it. Mort was a kind god-lord. He showed mercy of plenty. Especially those in his charge. Faery spent weeks sketching a proper mask to commemorate the presence of the passing god-lord. But to no avail. There was just nothing worth salvaging; day after day the rut continued. Perhaps this was the meaning: death is change. The death of a sketch, the birth of one, the death of another.

Deep in contemplation, Faer-goat paused during mid-chew of some blackberries. Dark liquid dribbled down the plucky little goat's chin. Its beard turning mauve and pink, sure to be of some use for dying ink!

Deimos Belial inched closer, and the Sword sighed, rising from the rocks, and maneuvering along the pool, intending to grab hold of the young peryton before he managed to find himself submerged and drowning in the water. By all these accounts, he was justifiably distracted; eyes only on his winged companion, and not on what lurked in the bushes. But Zuriel certainly wasn’t. Used to the antics of the other, the mare took no issue in raising her head and glaring over towards them. At some point they’d be finished with their mischief or ridiculousness, and they’d move on. So she snorted, tossed her head, continued picking away at some shrubbery, until she heard something in the brush. Narrowing her eyes in speculation, the intelligent creature maneuvered forward. She wasn’t Deimos, who might’ve proceeded with incantations. She wasn’t Belial, who would’ve run and leapt at whatever being had immersed itself within. No, she was the stalwart, haughty unicorn, and nothing was going to be grazing near her chosen patch. The equine took a few more steps, widening her nares, until she came to the occupant. A goat. With a blackberry stained beard. Hardly a threat, but Zuriel didn’t often get to make her stand as Deimos eternally did – so she snorted once more, intending to snag at the small animal’s attention. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime