DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Deimos didn’t begrudge the Sentinel his lack of break – understanding the draw of persistence and fortitude. But sometimes a break was necessary, especially in laborious conditions, where the slightest, tired mannerism could spell multitudes of problems, issues, and danger.
But for what it was worth, they were all successful. Power, control, might, and dominion, all working within their abilities to forge the walls. Before long, each shelter had its forms, structures, and barriers. And each exhausted soul could take a breath, be proud, of their accomplishments. Deimos dusted his hands off, surveying the scene. “These look good,” and then had to laugh as the companions came flying in, their mouths full of snow moss.
Stuffed away and insulated in the partitions of wood, it’d keep the movement and motions within each shelter quiet and unsuspecting. “There. Another rest this evening, and tomorrow we can tackle the roofs.”
And once more, they could all disperse to their temporary clusters and cloisters.
--
Bright and early, the sun barely risen, the Sword had already snagged at the particulars they’d need. More wood materials, more planks, more nails, more tools – glancing over proportions until they’d be deemed adequate. While awaiting the rest of the flock, his magic created several ladders, so they’d be able to work in solidity and cohesion, quickly, efficiently.
Breakfast was provided, steaming by the fire in the middle of their little encampment, while he worked out a diagram, placing chimney sanctions within his outline. When the rest had assembled, he showed them particulars, waiting for any other choices and decisions. “What do you think?” No thatching; pure slabs of logs and cabin-like proportions, not wanting the risk of potential fire and flame simply by way of needing it for the winter’s chill.
--
Walls are done! Snow moss has been found! Another day down, and now we need to tackle the roofs. Take a look at the diagrams and then we’ll get to work.
But for what it was worth, they were all successful. Power, control, might, and dominion, all working within their abilities to forge the walls. Before long, each shelter had its forms, structures, and barriers. And each exhausted soul could take a breath, be proud, of their accomplishments. Deimos dusted his hands off, surveying the scene. “These look good,” and then had to laugh as the companions came flying in, their mouths full of snow moss.
Stuffed away and insulated in the partitions of wood, it’d keep the movement and motions within each shelter quiet and unsuspecting. “There. Another rest this evening, and tomorrow we can tackle the roofs.”
And once more, they could all disperse to their temporary clusters and cloisters.
--
Bright and early, the sun barely risen, the Sword had already snagged at the particulars they’d need. More wood materials, more planks, more nails, more tools – glancing over proportions until they’d be deemed adequate. While awaiting the rest of the flock, his magic created several ladders, so they’d be able to work in solidity and cohesion, quickly, efficiently.
Breakfast was provided, steaming by the fire in the middle of their little encampment, while he worked out a diagram, placing chimney sanctions within his outline. When the rest had assembled, he showed them particulars, waiting for any other choices and decisions. “What do you think?” No thatching; pure slabs of logs and cabin-like proportions, not wanting the risk of potential fire and flame simply by way of needing it for the winter’s chill.
--
Walls are done! Snow moss has been found! Another day down, and now we need to tackle the roofs. Take a look at the diagrams and then we’ll get to work.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
