DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Far and away, at a safe distance, he watched as the tendril began to snake out. A tempting snare, a lofting threat, and he snorted, somewhat bemused that portion of the plan had worked. It’d been a lure of their own creation, and he intended to continue to connive and deceive while they had the opportunity. The leaf litter dragged along, much like a wounded animal, invited by the ability of his magic, and the potential for the Wicker Woman to want to come out further, be snagged, be inveigled, be enticed, to at least partake in an attack.
He lowered his voice to a whisper, a murmur too, uncertain if the tree was far more powerful than it would let on. “If I can get a portion out far enough, I can cut it.” Probably with his water magic turned into ice shards, slicing and piercing when sharpened into honing, precise blades. He arched his brow in Juniper’s direction, waiting for approval.
He lowered his voice to a whisper, a murmur too, uncertain if the tree was far more powerful than it would let on. “If I can get a portion out far enough, I can cut it.” Probably with his water magic turned into ice shards, slicing and piercing when sharpened into honing, precise blades. He arched his brow in Juniper’s direction, waiting for approval.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
