DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Threading his way in between Torchline and King’s End had permitted adequate time for supply restocking, and as he encountered other intriguing wares at the market, he’d allow himself some amount of moments to simply scrutinize and study. Unaware this encounter within the bazaar’s reach would be short-lived, he’d already begun to snag and barter his way for several fruit and vegetables he’d yet to spot within any nearby jungles or warrens, when the familiar screech of Eira gave him pause. Eyes flicking upwards to where she resounded, he recognized the notes of panic, the wiles of apprehension. Or maybe it was his own binding into the midst.
Something else. Again.
Apologizing to the stall owner, and snagging at his own companions, he nodded once to the griffin, before following where she seemed to yearn to lead. Show me by way of gentle command, and Belial took to the skies after wings and lack of explanation. A line settled somewhere in the midst of his jaw, a long, slow breath unfurling as they careened along the coast; listening to Zuriel’s hooves hit the sand, to the tumbling waves echoing past throngs of repose. One could suppose that was gone once more.
Along a bend in the sea bed, where dunes slid off into the ocean, where tides rippled but didn’t scorch or touch, he saw the outline of the Sentinel. Quickly, efficiently, the Sword snagged at the unicorn, recognizing the blend of injury – similar, perhaps, to how they’d both arrived back in the Greatwood after attacks upon the Citadel. With a swift nod at the mare, the dark equine motioned towards Noah, traipsing in her familiar stoicism. And Deimos, ever a guard in his own way, stood nearby, pressing a low rumble into the air. “What happened?”
Something else. Again.
Apologizing to the stall owner, and snagging at his own companions, he nodded once to the griffin, before following where she seemed to yearn to lead. Show me by way of gentle command, and Belial took to the skies after wings and lack of explanation. A line settled somewhere in the midst of his jaw, a long, slow breath unfurling as they careened along the coast; listening to Zuriel’s hooves hit the sand, to the tumbling waves echoing past throngs of repose. One could suppose that was gone once more.
Along a bend in the sea bed, where dunes slid off into the ocean, where tides rippled but didn’t scorch or touch, he saw the outline of the Sentinel. Quickly, efficiently, the Sword snagged at the unicorn, recognizing the blend of injury – similar, perhaps, to how they’d both arrived back in the Greatwood after attacks upon the Citadel. With a swift nod at the mare, the dark equine motioned towards Noah, traipsing in her familiar stoicism. And Deimos, ever a guard in his own way, stood nearby, pressing a low rumble into the air. “What happened?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
