DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos could only take the words for the value they encompassed – uncertain if they were directed towards him – for while discernible emotions had pinpointed at his soul (love, lust, contempt, wrath, and everything else nestled in between), envy was not often one of them. Another furrowing of his brows followed, struggling to discern the underlying nuances, before deciding to simply ask outright. “Jealousy? Of what?” The moments had been few and sparse – confusion evident in the wake of his eyes turning to glance at masks and antlers.
He wound around another passage once more, the familiarity of the cavern giving way to a comfortable ease and pace in his stride. Belial’s treads were interrupted every so often by a toss of his bird, the feathers flying, the Sword’s subsequent sighs at the peryton’s antics mostly subsided. The next lines from the shaman were clear and concise; and likely no companion bond would center along her presence. He allowed a laugh to slip through, though it was quiet and hushed, not an echoing, bounding thing. “Some do not require rescuing.” Pointing towards the carnivorous deer, who had now unfurled his wings for the sake of taking more space, his tones still managed to take on a fond tone. “Belial simply decided to bond with me,” as if there’d been no other option.
Stare returning to the slight drift in the cave, and the downhill juncture in the floor, he nodded at her assertion. “But understood.” He wouldn’t persist in the subject matter.
The last statement though caused a snort, a smile to tip in the corners, some parts a snicker, other depictions a grin. “Yes.” Gore crows were nothing compared to some of the monsters nestled amongst the world. “Given enough time and travels,” and bold, daring, intrepid maneuvers, “you will find many that are much worse.” People included.
He wound around another passage once more, the familiarity of the cavern giving way to a comfortable ease and pace in his stride. Belial’s treads were interrupted every so often by a toss of his bird, the feathers flying, the Sword’s subsequent sighs at the peryton’s antics mostly subsided. The next lines from the shaman were clear and concise; and likely no companion bond would center along her presence. He allowed a laugh to slip through, though it was quiet and hushed, not an echoing, bounding thing. “Some do not require rescuing.” Pointing towards the carnivorous deer, who had now unfurled his wings for the sake of taking more space, his tones still managed to take on a fond tone. “Belial simply decided to bond with me,” as if there’d been no other option.
Stare returning to the slight drift in the cave, and the downhill juncture in the floor, he nodded at her assertion. “But understood.” He wouldn’t persist in the subject matter.
The last statement though caused a snort, a smile to tip in the corners, some parts a snicker, other depictions a grin. “Yes.” Gore crows were nothing compared to some of the monsters nestled amongst the world. “Given enough time and travels,” and bold, daring, intrepid maneuvers, “you will find many that are much worse.” People included.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
