DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The snap in his direction was understandable, but so were his tattered and seething emotions. Instead of releasing a verbal warning, there was a rumble in his Attuned bearings, one she’d be quite capable of understanding. I do not deserve that clear and concise, hormonal implications or not – he’d always been there for her. Wreaking havoc on one of the few bonds he had left would be ridiculous and stupefying, even if the irritation was there on the surface of his skin, underneath the reticent and composed veneer.
Nonsensical and mystifying, his jaw clenched and his head shook, beginning to wander over the wooden floor, pacing behind the chair because every restless notion was thriving to take hold. There was naught to render into pieces or break apart here, and he had to settle for feathering his jaw and holding his chin at a seditious angle. “We had it figured out. And you are certainly not doing anything while pregnant.” She’d have to stomp over his dead body before any of that took place. How had this all unraveled so quickly? What had she been thinking? Another long, long sigh drifted out from his chest, and then she started on another course of chaos.
Sunjata and Morgan’s correspondences – the Flood and his discoveries with whatever evidence he’d managed to snag. But then after made his eyes widen in utter disbelief. “Why would you go?” Could she not see the snare? Could she not see the underlying footfalls? “That is a trap.” He thought her far smarter than that; to see the lines drawing, the tethers moving. He’d already been banned from Torchline and couldn’t follow – the intentions of separation were wide and obvious. Frustrations warred and wore; brooding and brimming along the outlines of his frame. “And if they jail you?” This was so stupid – and all the carefully laid out plans they’d concocted seemed to have gone up in the air well after he’d set them aflame.
Nonsensical and mystifying, his jaw clenched and his head shook, beginning to wander over the wooden floor, pacing behind the chair because every restless notion was thriving to take hold. There was naught to render into pieces or break apart here, and he had to settle for feathering his jaw and holding his chin at a seditious angle. “We had it figured out. And you are certainly not doing anything while pregnant.” She’d have to stomp over his dead body before any of that took place. How had this all unraveled so quickly? What had she been thinking? Another long, long sigh drifted out from his chest, and then she started on another course of chaos.
Sunjata and Morgan’s correspondences – the Flood and his discoveries with whatever evidence he’d managed to snag. But then after made his eyes widen in utter disbelief. “Why would you go?” Could she not see the snare? Could she not see the underlying footfalls? “That is a trap.” He thought her far smarter than that; to see the lines drawing, the tethers moving. He’d already been banned from Torchline and couldn’t follow – the intentions of separation were wide and obvious. Frustrations warred and wore; brooding and brimming along the outlines of his frame. “And if they jail you?” This was so stupid – and all the carefully laid out plans they’d concocted seemed to have gone up in the air well after he’d set them aflame.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
