DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
With a hoot, Belial took to the air again, clearly intending to lead the way home. Deimos followed along, ensuring Darkeye did the same, strides sweeping and sure as they crossed along another street, then roamed upward. The journey was hardly anything of note; the soldier nodded his head towards strangers and familiar alike, while the peryton soared above, wings taking a flurry of beats.
But conversations could be had, a low rumble beginning in his chest. “The former Warden, Morgan Aristomache, was found dead in Whitebrim.” The voice lacked solemnity, merely facts persisting through reticence, turning another corner before coming to the house on the end, taken up near the barracks. “There have been a few scouting and investigating parties set out, looking for clues as to how she died. It was not the usual dragon attack.” His brows furrowed, and then he turned the knob, opening the door and permitting Darkeye to enter.
All the older gentleman would see upon wandering in would be the kitchen and table – the wooden fixture unfortunately covered in boxes and dust, as he hadn’t had much opportunity to unpack since the banishment, and subsequent coming home. But the fire was roaring in the hearth, with Zuriel curled up in front of it – her head raised a fraction as they entered, then a soft snort following through.
But conversations could be had, a low rumble beginning in his chest. “The former Warden, Morgan Aristomache, was found dead in Whitebrim.” The voice lacked solemnity, merely facts persisting through reticence, turning another corner before coming to the house on the end, taken up near the barracks. “There have been a few scouting and investigating parties set out, looking for clues as to how she died. It was not the usual dragon attack.” His brows furrowed, and then he turned the knob, opening the door and permitting Darkeye to enter.
All the older gentleman would see upon wandering in would be the kitchen and table – the wooden fixture unfortunately covered in boxes and dust, as he hadn’t had much opportunity to unpack since the banishment, and subsequent coming home. But the fire was roaring in the hearth, with Zuriel curled up in front of it – her head raised a fraction as they entered, then a soft snort following through.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
