DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
When the soldier managed to claim his portion at the top, the next seemed braver, intending to follow suit. He traced the lines of their work with honest scrutiny, forming notes in his mind for future endeavors, before relaying and pondering over the information suddenly reeling. He muffled another snort, but didn’t check his grin, when the discussion turned to companions. “A dragon…,” he murmured first, his natural inclination and experience with them not being very high – presuming this one was far smaller than the imposing figures and cousins in the Fangs and Draig. “They are welcome to come in. Mine do frequently.” Gods knew how many times the peryton annoyed everyone in the closest vicinity.
Pondering over the offer, his gaze took on a sharp, mischievous contortion. “Perhaps after. Your break is almost up.” And he nodded towards the remaining targets, still floating in the whims of his enchantments. As for running across the tundra, his smile became a Cheshire grin. “Freedom.”
Then he inclined back towards the makeshift effigy, walking over, and beginning to move them in sporadic designations – all with the same smile on his face.
Pondering over the offer, his gaze took on a sharp, mischievous contortion. “Perhaps after. Your break is almost up.” And he nodded towards the remaining targets, still floating in the whims of his enchantments. As for running across the tundra, his smile became a Cheshire grin. “Freedom.”
Then he inclined back towards the makeshift effigy, walking over, and beginning to move them in sporadic designations – all with the same smile on his face.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
