they found your bones

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame One hand went out to pat Zuriel, fingers intertwining in her mane, for she’d been every inch a formidable being, and he was so entirely grateful for her that words couldn’t express it. Not even now, when it was just pride and exhaustion filtering and flickering through. He would’ve searched and scoured for treats, but they were back – He couldn’t even say home. There was no sanctuary, no refuge. Just the shadows piercing through trees, just the abyss rolling between veins, just the shattered remnants of other things. And why did it always seem to fumble and break apart? Why couldn’t the worlds just stay together, longer for more than a few weeks at a god damned time? He breathed, and his lungs filled with air, measuring in the accustomed nature, in the necessity of it all. Belial alerted to another bramble of sounds, of movements, of Eira, and then the familiar hunter. Bloodied and broken too. A singular nod was given and granted to the griffin, and they turned, twisting, back into the foundations of roots and plants, guided by strong hearts and minds, by a well worn clarity of nothingness and that something, something, something had to get better. Because otherwise they didn’t have much left. “Noah,” he rumbled, stepping forward, crouching near the prone form, piercing eyes scrutinizing the trail of blood, the patchwork of chaos that had unraveled; noose strands gone, leaving behind pain and anguish. Reflecting on none of his own, the Sword nodded to Zuriel, who stepped forward. Another soul she’d save tonight. “Zuriel can heal you.” No questions asked, no indicators of anything else for the moment – because at least they were safe. And maybe that was all that mattered. The mare dipped her head, and the horn glowed, intending to counter the wake of dragons and chakrams, of piercing claws and mighty talons, to one who’d survived onslaught after onslaught, and terror after terror. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace