in tenebris est veritas.
Her head tilts as he notes his origin, the subtle motion amplified by the heightened radius of her mask’s antlers. It is so strange to think of that place in this one, the mere concept of cold like a distant memory in these dark, sweltering, oppressing tunnels. She begins to crave it: that bite of a chill breeze, that glaring beauty of snow-capped stone, that sharp wet scent of the frost in one’s nostrils. But so too would that other bygone craving rise up again in the periphery of her thoughts: the sinking sensation that also rises, the heat of him against the cold, the ice-cut paths they walked together which only she may yet walk again.
“I have slept here,” she insists, fists balled at her sides as she attempts to distract herself from puerile pining. Her well-patched shoes slide softly against the obsidian path beneath them, hurried to better match Deimos’s strides. Briefly she notes that they are not headed in the direction she had requested, though she is in no position to object. “But I live nowhere for long.”
The eyes within the shadows of the skull-mask dart urgently around their new and changing surroundings, endeavoring to commit to memory the interchangeable stone walls as they pass them. “A larger quarry may be hunted with twice the hunters,” she suggests, perhaps redundantly, softening her voice and her footfalls in anticipation of discovering just that. “What is your preferred method?”
As if on cue, her attention twitches in the direction of a distant noise, like a claw or a stick scraping against rock. She pauses to look at Deimos, anticipating a tilt of recognition in his eyes.
“I have slept here,” she insists, fists balled at her sides as she attempts to distract herself from puerile pining. Her well-patched shoes slide softly against the obsidian path beneath them, hurried to better match Deimos’s strides. Briefly she notes that they are not headed in the direction she had requested, though she is in no position to object. “But I live nowhere for long.”
The eyes within the shadows of the skull-mask dart urgently around their new and changing surroundings, endeavoring to commit to memory the interchangeable stone walls as they pass them. “A larger quarry may be hunted with twice the hunters,” she suggests, perhaps redundantly, softening her voice and her footfalls in anticipation of discovering just that. “What is your preferred method?”
As if on cue, her attention twitches in the direction of a distant noise, like a claw or a stick scraping against rock. She pauses to look at Deimos, anticipating a tilt of recognition in his eyes.
