DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Kept and tucked away; safer than most, given what he’d heard of the past. How many others could face the same fate? Could wind their way around swamps, deserts, forests, and oceans, without being absconded, or taken apart? The Sword was not one to hide, and had no designs to do so – the thoughts nestled and intertwined on those that had no ability, yearning, or cause to fight. His tone grew solemn, brows furrowing again, eyes lifting to rest somewhere on the hut, but nothing in particular. Men like him cut in a way he wasn’t certain how to voice, especially after working on himself – on not believing his soul to be insignificant. “And yet you survived,” he offered instead, relenting in a more jocular way, sipping at his tea again while his mind reflected and contorted, pooled together the latest undulations.But then his gaze swept back to watch her work – knowing full well how he achieved his own merits and incantations, but not of others. There appeared to be a few soft utterances, and he waited for something to happen, piercing eyes going back and forth, from person to object, but nothing significant seemed to alter. Not overtly so anyway, and when she didn’t request anything in return, the skepticism and suspicion came flickering back over him.
Deimos took it anyway, because it was the polite thing to do and he’d accepted the matter already, placing the lopsided mug in his lap, taking hold of the silent, screaming figurine. Within a moment, the obligatory, noble, polite thing to do, ingrained in him since he was a young child, burst from his lungs and over his throat without any calculation behind it. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I am not often granted gifts.” Which, for him, was rambling, and his brow arched, snorting at the device, before exchanging it with the mug again, giving another dubious stare.
Unite and spread the heart apart
