DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
A quick nod measured his countenance as they returned swiftly to necessities and details, the laughter fading away. “Sylvia and Shaye so far. I have sent out letters already, and they agreed to meet.” The list of names Sah had given him had been short, but to the point, and even two could make for significant changes and alterations. “Can you think of any others?” Noah would have the most insight, given his Natural status and long family histories around the mountains.
He tilted his head a fraction again, arms crossing over his chest once more as another sigh managed to muster its way through. His eyes went briefly to Zuriel, who snorted, as if the volley of thoughts ricocheted through both of them. “I did not realize you had that conversation with him. We had similar words, and I let him know my opinion on the matter.” Frustrating for multitudes of reasons, but the drawn edges might have left Sah with some lessons learned in the process. But with the other considerations at play, and potential for the fellow Abandoned to simply tell everyone everything, the Sword could only frown. “Perhaps we find another who has gone then.” Maybe one of the Naturals had stepped foot in those portions?
Deimos raised his skull from his musings though when the other inquiry came flickering through – brows furrowing, the decree of memories and experiences poignant and vast. “Which time?” It was a low rumble, a press of things he’d like to forget. His jaw feathered, piercing gaze sliding elsewhere, to the treetops, to the canopies, to the dunes, biting back a measure of ferocity. “When her creations tortured us during LongNights? When she spread the blight?" When she’d forced him to bend, all because he’d been there, in her presence, to help Rexanna? “There were feelings of hopelessness. Terror. Horror.” Kiada, sickened and twisted, maligned and consumed by the disease. The shreds of Amalia’s voice echoing from monsters’ mouths, trying to coax him outside. The Penumbra’s death. “That is why I did not want Halo to be touched by her.”
He tilted his head a fraction again, arms crossing over his chest once more as another sigh managed to muster its way through. His eyes went briefly to Zuriel, who snorted, as if the volley of thoughts ricocheted through both of them. “I did not realize you had that conversation with him. We had similar words, and I let him know my opinion on the matter.” Frustrating for multitudes of reasons, but the drawn edges might have left Sah with some lessons learned in the process. But with the other considerations at play, and potential for the fellow Abandoned to simply tell everyone everything, the Sword could only frown. “Perhaps we find another who has gone then.” Maybe one of the Naturals had stepped foot in those portions?
Deimos raised his skull from his musings though when the other inquiry came flickering through – brows furrowing, the decree of memories and experiences poignant and vast. “Which time?” It was a low rumble, a press of things he’d like to forget. His jaw feathered, piercing gaze sliding elsewhere, to the treetops, to the canopies, to the dunes, biting back a measure of ferocity. “When her creations tortured us during LongNights? When she spread the blight?" When she’d forced him to bend, all because he’d been there, in her presence, to help Rexanna? “There were feelings of hopelessness. Terror. Horror.” Kiada, sickened and twisted, maligned and consumed by the disease. The shreds of Amalia’s voice echoing from monsters’ mouths, trying to coax him outside. The Penumbra’s death. “That is why I did not want Halo to be touched by her.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
