DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Plans orchestrated and made, he only arched a brow at Cordelia’s decision; not expecting it. They’d be fine with an additional person anyway – more for hunting, more for gathering, more for an additional eye as they plotted and schemed along an upcoming season known for its ambiguity. More plans could form under shadowed skies and wintry expanse, and he gave another round of solemn nods to each individual in turn as they began to leave. It’d been a decent discussion, and they had more than when they’d started – and hopefully they’d snagged into more plausibility and possibilities after this range of snowfall. “Stay safe,” he ushered to each; before they could disband, and be on their way, forging onward, and not being dismayed any longer.
{FIN}
{FIN}
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
