DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He nodded his head, content with the gratitude. “You are welcome.” Thereafter though, Deimos quirked a brow and managed to restrain himself from laughing at the courier’s sudden choking, presuming some surprise over the inquiry. Folding his lips inward and looking away for a moment, he managed a very brief snort and collected himself into half a grin. The question hadn’t meant to goad the younger man, but there were clearly some lines drawn. “Lifting weights is not fun,” he countered with a wrinkle to his nose. Very dull. Very boring. He’d know, based on how often he’d applied it in initial training, and then throughout residual notions. The Sword jutted his jaw towards the climbing wall – towards the open proportions of the elements, out of the cover of roofs.
Made of ice, rock, and anything else he could’ve utilized upon assembling it, it remained contorted in snow, with obvious angles and surfaces extended outward; meant to resemble portions of the Fangs, or perhaps the Draig. “You can always use the climbing wall. Much more amusing, and applicable to Halo itself.” By his remarks, several other soldiers seemed to skitter and meander in that direction, and he fought off an eye roll. “But strength would help you out on the trail, in any circumstance.”
Made of ice, rock, and anything else he could’ve utilized upon assembling it, it remained contorted in snow, with obvious angles and surfaces extended outward; meant to resemble portions of the Fangs, or perhaps the Draig. “You can always use the climbing wall. Much more amusing, and applicable to Halo itself.” By his remarks, several other soldiers seemed to skitter and meander in that direction, and he fought off an eye roll. “But strength would help you out on the trail, in any circumstance.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
