DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
With considerations in place, he listened again, the distinct edges of his silence calm and composed; the lull of waters along shore, or the fair crackle of a fire burning low. Always thinking, eternally methodical, he was still surprised by her explanation – if only because he’d been intending to be mindful and polite, and it sounded as though she didn’t want that. But the more she described, the more he comprehended, and his stare pointed over the mists and edges again, taking in the roar of the falls still bounding and leaping beyond, of the haze flickering and hiding everything far, far below.
Not wanting to be chained, tied, and tethered to those terrors, to those horrors, to those manifestations of what had made someone afraid and frightened. Reaching forward, ahead, daring to be bold and brave in the face of actions that had once bent, frayed, and marred. Understood, he rumbled, with some nuance of an inward smile.
That faded immediately at her question.
It was almost imperceptible, but there was a flinch there regardless. His eyes cast downward for a moment, glancing at padded, feline feet and weighted stone, trying to measure his actions over all the rounds of consequences, the fates of war, the felling of friends, and the ghosts that had pressed behind his eyes for what felt like centuries. Pushing onward, he finally admitted. Though it is never easy, and there are times I often just want to… succumb? Fall apart? Forget? Plunge it all downward? Become that dark, nefarious being he’d been before? Nonchalant and reticent, a weapon and nothing more? Sink. His ears flattened back against his skull, irritated that he likely wasn’t conveying it in a way that made sense. I prefer action over anything else.
Not wanting to be chained, tied, and tethered to those terrors, to those horrors, to those manifestations of what had made someone afraid and frightened. Reaching forward, ahead, daring to be bold and brave in the face of actions that had once bent, frayed, and marred. Understood, he rumbled, with some nuance of an inward smile.
That faded immediately at her question.
It was almost imperceptible, but there was a flinch there regardless. His eyes cast downward for a moment, glancing at padded, feline feet and weighted stone, trying to measure his actions over all the rounds of consequences, the fates of war, the felling of friends, and the ghosts that had pressed behind his eyes for what felt like centuries. Pushing onward, he finally admitted. Though it is never easy, and there are times I often just want to… succumb? Fall apart? Forget? Plunge it all downward? Become that dark, nefarious being he’d been before? Nonchalant and reticent, a weapon and nothing more? Sink. His ears flattened back against his skull, irritated that he likely wasn’t conveying it in a way that made sense. I prefer action over anything else.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
