A pause to hunt

DEIMOS

the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness

It wasn’t just with hunting. It circumvented everywhere; spiraled in hazes of this world and the next. There would always be others who disagreed. Who grew disgruntled with anothers’ boundaries. Who held no appeal. Who irked and irritated. It was better to underestimate, to believe the individual was powerful, potent, and deadly; a lethal combination, and to start there, rather than being immersed in conceit. Deimos had never believed himself better than anyone or anything else (usually considering his soul buried in the unworthy and undeserving parameters – though it was becoming better). But with the agreement and accord, he’d say nothing more on the subject. Sah had likely already embedded it within his skull.

Content now with the moose and ursur, Deimos cleaned off the remnants of sinew and blood, and nodded in agreement. “Yes.” It was more than enough; Halo would be content with another load of furs and hides, meat and bones, to whittle away edges and hungry stomachs. Another day of mouths fed and citizens revitalized.

Pulling at the sled, the Sword hadn’t counted on the notions of another inquiry – turning his head back over his shoulder, arching his brow at the way Sah’s ears had already turned red. A fair amount of dread, apprehension, and something else that could’ve been amusement funneled through his lungs, and he couldn’t withhold the snort. “Depends on what it is.”

for the space they take
and so, neither shall I