DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
His eyes followed her pointed juncture, towards the peryton now bounding, leaping, content with his prize, and the potential insinuation that Zuriel wasn’t self-sufficient. If he were around the unicorn currently, he might’ve laughed – could fathom her features would have turned and twisted into some form of equine scowl. But with her haughty demeanor and occasional demands, especially the likelihood of her form being curled next to a massive hearth at the moment, the notions were understandable. “There are many of those,” he permitted, quieter now as they stoked along another bend and winding interval.
Lighter things, compared to those of the delving inquiries; and his patience endured while she spelled out reasons and notions for why envy, goading, provocation, might have persisted towards him. The Sword’s gaze fell to the ground, pondering, wondering; for there had been many, many times where he’d been weak and still strived, where he’d grown and practiced and stretched out limitations, to a point now where he wasn’t sure where they began, where they ceased. Nor was he the strongest within Caido - deities and their demigods, spirits and their tethers, the world and the rest of its lines held those filaments. Deimos wasn’t certain what to say at first – he’d never been a creature that hid and fled, unless there were other measures necessary – existing in the protection and service of others for so long that he often ignored his own needs.
Eventually, words came to mind, but they were deliberately measured. “We all start somewhere,” not out of sympathy, for she hadn’t wanted it, but comprehending and perception, discernment of years and years before. “But I have also trained,” in unrelenting ways. “I always wanted to be stronger.” Goals, ambitions, determination, drive, and resolution – pinpointed squarely in a stalwart soul. She could have her aspirations; but to make them feasible within the moment. “Where your magic takes you depends on what you crave.”
Lighter things, compared to those of the delving inquiries; and his patience endured while she spelled out reasons and notions for why envy, goading, provocation, might have persisted towards him. The Sword’s gaze fell to the ground, pondering, wondering; for there had been many, many times where he’d been weak and still strived, where he’d grown and practiced and stretched out limitations, to a point now where he wasn’t sure where they began, where they ceased. Nor was he the strongest within Caido - deities and their demigods, spirits and their tethers, the world and the rest of its lines held those filaments. Deimos wasn’t certain what to say at first – he’d never been a creature that hid and fled, unless there were other measures necessary – existing in the protection and service of others for so long that he often ignored his own needs.
Eventually, words came to mind, but they were deliberately measured. “We all start somewhere,” not out of sympathy, for she hadn’t wanted it, but comprehending and perception, discernment of years and years before. “But I have also trained,” in unrelenting ways. “I always wanted to be stronger.” Goals, ambitions, determination, drive, and resolution – pinpointed squarely in a stalwart soul. She could have her aspirations; but to make them feasible within the moment. “Where your magic takes you depends on what you crave.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
