DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
They were understandable niches: a youth striving to impress her mother, a treasure she didn’t want anyone else to have. Something composed and comprised out of fable traditions perhaps, but nonetheless he listened, the ritual brow raised and continuing in its persistence. What intrigued him, because Deimos had never been the type to snag at gilded filaments, was the lost knowledge. Some sagacity, deep within fathoms. Perhaps like Safrin’s library, which they’d only merely scratched the surface of; but had hinted at further revelations. And memories of exploring the Sea of Glass itself, with family and loved ones, gazing out across the ice and rime, glaciers and expanse, wondering if it could’ve been likened to his in the Basin – and if ghosts could become places too.
“I see. A worthy cause.” He purposefully left his features stoic, so she might be continually uncertain about his credence and notions towards the whole thing. His gaze flickered up over dunes, the rise of the hazy skyline, the foundations of other worlds, lost in thought. “We explored it once before, when the portal opened.” Wings spread and imaginations wild – and he didn’t yearn to explain the ache in his chest. “There was an ancient creature, below the depths. We attempted to converse with it, but the languages were too different.” For they’d lived in separate worlds and lives and centuries. “It should not be harmed.” Wasn’t it often that there was a guardian of these sagacities and valuables? Would it be that arcane thing – drifting in along the glacial wake?
As for why they needed assistance, Deimos could nearly offer a warning in return – that perhaps the realm was trying to tell them something, or was prospering a challenge. With no agreement or accord yet, because his mind was a calculating thing and he had no intention of striving straight into impulse again, another rumble volleyed, stare returning back to her. “Have you talked to the Warden about your intentions?”
“I see. A worthy cause.” He purposefully left his features stoic, so she might be continually uncertain about his credence and notions towards the whole thing. His gaze flickered up over dunes, the rise of the hazy skyline, the foundations of other worlds, lost in thought. “We explored it once before, when the portal opened.” Wings spread and imaginations wild – and he didn’t yearn to explain the ache in his chest. “There was an ancient creature, below the depths. We attempted to converse with it, but the languages were too different.” For they’d lived in separate worlds and lives and centuries. “It should not be harmed.” Wasn’t it often that there was a guardian of these sagacities and valuables? Would it be that arcane thing – drifting in along the glacial wake?
As for why they needed assistance, Deimos could nearly offer a warning in return – that perhaps the realm was trying to tell them something, or was prospering a challenge. With no agreement or accord yet, because his mind was a calculating thing and he had no intention of striving straight into impulse again, another rumble volleyed, stare returning back to her. “Have you talked to the Warden about your intentions?”
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
