DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
With no need for further assaults, assessing any damage, or providing any healing, Deimos could settle his attention in between the volleys of retorts, and arch his brow at Mildew’s response. Nothing more to be had seemed perplexing, but given the nature of their range of attacks, perhaps animals of the Swamp were more inclined to keep themselves safe. Learn, rather than continually bombard. So he shrugged his shoulders, tending to his companions, and listening to the rest of the conversation.
Where was the Mathair? Did she have to be lured out by the food that had been suggested before? His brows furrowed, pondering. Hunting would be fine, depending on Remi’s inquiry; and if it was scarce the Sword could always compel sources, though that seemed less amusing or fair. “Is there anything else she’d require?” Besides the raw meat? Water?
Where was the Mathair? Did she have to be lured out by the food that had been suggested before? His brows furrowed, pondering. Hunting would be fine, depending on Remi’s inquiry; and if it was scarce the Sword could always compel sources, though that seemed less amusing or fair. “Is there anything else she’d require?” Besides the raw meat? Water?
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
