DEIMOS
what tried to destroy you
didn't have the strength
didn't have the strength
The presumption had been there, and he withheld another snort. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the turn of the conversation to land upon Sunjata. A thousand things could be said about the man – and his brows furrowed instinctively. Perhaps it was fortunate Gideon wasn’t an Attuned; for the bombardment of frustration, exasperation, and barely-concealed contempt would’ve pulsed and pervaded from the Sword’s presence. Just not for the crimes the priest had listed: instead it was for duplicity, unwinding deals that led to more selfish inhibitions, spy rings cast in a land he’d sought to protect, and a friend continually discarded by the Flood. So Deimos didn’t abhor Sunjata for whom he’d chosen to love, but for what had happened in the aftermath, in the wreckage, in the pathways he’d stoked. “He is a hypocrite for many reasons. But I heard,” and set an entire guild on fire for in Ru’s revenge, “he struck a deal with Safrin to save Nate in the war.” A child; as if other souls should’ve been used as collateral, brought on this earth to be a bargaining chip.
Even that instance was somewhat sickening.
He stepped over a few raised roots, and looked ahead to snaking vines, watching as they unfurled and unraveled – hanging snakes, ducking under their depths. The Sword remained vigilant, listening all the while to Gideon’s proclamations of sermons, wondering, pondering, in the spinning calculations that always seemed to muster. An inquiry, about the citizens, about the wake of the earth, about the way many meandered without choosing a side – his gaze settled on Zuriel, on Belial grabbing hold of leaves. “But with the lands so firmly tied to Safrin, will all of that matter?”
Even that instance was somewhat sickening.
He stepped over a few raised roots, and looked ahead to snaking vines, watching as they unfurled and unraveled – hanging snakes, ducking under their depths. The Sword remained vigilant, listening all the while to Gideon’s proclamations of sermons, wondering, pondering, in the spinning calculations that always seemed to muster. An inquiry, about the citizens, about the wake of the earth, about the way many meandered without choosing a side – his gaze settled on Zuriel, on Belial grabbing hold of leaves. “But with the lands so firmly tied to Safrin, will all of that matter?”
still you stand
sturdy and smelling of smoke
sturdy and smelling of smoke
