DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Patient and forbearing, Deimos waited. And for all his estimations and calculations, he wouldn’t have been able to render such a prediction, as the words fell in sobs and torrents, blended, muffled cacophonies of grief, strife, and rancor. All of which he could understand, except when the undercurrent of syllables dragged against Sah’s name – something to stray back to.
Aino being dead was a shock in itself. She’d been a remarkably strong, independent individual, someone the Sword would’ve considered fully capable of taking care of herself, knowing, understanding the risks involved with meandering amongst Deepfrost’s chains. “I am sorry for your loss,” he murmured at first, head down, quietly snagging at the anguish, knowing, rationalizing, how it could fill one’s soul until ribcages could burst and hearts could blacken.
The notions that it was a dragon that took her stuck a little too fast in his throat. He tucked away the rapid memories immediately threatening to brim above the surface of Attuned bonds; for neither needed to relive the way beings could be lost, so quickly, so swiftly, when coming across the powerful creatures. Instead, his jaw clenched, just a little tighter, as he moved to stand, crossing over the floor of the parlor and snagging at the kettle remaining there from earlier, heating it up, placing tea bags within cups – something to occupy, until he returned and offered her one.
From there, he sat in the chair closest to hers, considering, contemplating, where and how to wander into the mire. Eventually, it was along the deep rumble of his chest, not permitting it to echo or resound across the den. “Do you blame him?”
Aino being dead was a shock in itself. She’d been a remarkably strong, independent individual, someone the Sword would’ve considered fully capable of taking care of herself, knowing, understanding the risks involved with meandering amongst Deepfrost’s chains. “I am sorry for your loss,” he murmured at first, head down, quietly snagging at the anguish, knowing, rationalizing, how it could fill one’s soul until ribcages could burst and hearts could blacken.
The notions that it was a dragon that took her stuck a little too fast in his throat. He tucked away the rapid memories immediately threatening to brim above the surface of Attuned bonds; for neither needed to relive the way beings could be lost, so quickly, so swiftly, when coming across the powerful creatures. Instead, his jaw clenched, just a little tighter, as he moved to stand, crossing over the floor of the parlor and snagging at the kettle remaining there from earlier, heating it up, placing tea bags within cups – something to occupy, until he returned and offered her one.
From there, he sat in the chair closest to hers, considering, contemplating, where and how to wander into the mire. Eventually, it was along the deep rumble of his chest, not permitting it to echo or resound across the den. “Do you blame him?”
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
