[se] time stretches endless

Deimos

“It is difficult to know how we are going to fight this war,” he mentioned, not by the way of a shrug, but in the hazardous wake of the rampant, rapidly approaching, unknown. Deimos could recount how they fought and forged along Helovia and Isilme, but he wouldn’t ever presume it was how things would disassemble here. “I would like to add some more defensive means around the Citadel,” including reinforcing the walls once more, adding arsenals and armaments to the pending watchtower, and further preparation to the soldiers, warriors, and citizens alike.

One would hope Halo wouldn’t even be in their wake – but he never amounted much to such an emotion.

Placing logs along more steps or porches, dragging the sled along, he processed the manners in which the world was due and damned to alter, to change. “Maybe we will feel better when the pillar is finished.” And the skyport, and any potential machinations from those notions.

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts

And there was the crux of it, really. Tal had no concept of what 'war' really meant outside of bedtime tales and boring history books that both tended to gloss over the personal details of what individual soldiers did. How to fight if it wasn't one-on-one, or just what sort of assaults were even expected.

"What if... we got somethin' wrong about it?" he spoke slowly, struggling through a difficult concept as he scuffed his boots through the snow. "If everyone's hunkerin' down and buildin' defenses and no one goes on the attack... seems like a weird kind of war." And while most of the people he'd talked to about it had been resigned to it, no one had seemed eager to go on the offensive.

Then again, more defenses certainly couldn't hurt - just in case there really was someone out there planning to rain the sort of destruction down on Halo that had hit Stormbreak.

More logs and kindling were pulled from his Bag and settled into place on a waiting porch while Bell paced quietly along beside Zuriel, watching the distribution of sticks with a keen canine eye.

Deimos

But others had gone on the attack – at least from Stormbreak’s angle. Something was damned and due to break; the tension clustered, coiled, and contorted into the rapacious ends. Maybe there weren’t any particular individuals who wanted to draw the first instance, but one could argue that had long since occurred. “If we do not start it, then the gods may.” He shrugged his shoulders, lifting a particularly heavy pile and settling the stack neatly beside another citizen’s door. Resigned to the notions that it would happen. The how may not have mattered.

Another pull of the sled brought them closer and closer to the end of the road, and his eyes flickered over the supplies again. “Probably finish off this street and call it good for today.” There would be more time, more opportunities, to commit to the same notions and semblances before LongNight pressed into their wake – and even then, with the protection immersed along the Citadel, at least they wouldn’t have to worry too much about the cold – no more so than any other time.

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts

Tal's scowl deepened at the mention of the gods forcing the war, regardless of mortal preference. But apparently war there would be... somehow. Some way. And all they could do was rely on Outlanders like Deimos who had experience in such things, in the hopes that they would survive whatever slings and arrows fate flung their way.

Grumping silently over the war, Tal hadn't noticed how near they were to finishing the street. He raised his head from his current stop in front of a small, blue door, arranging the logs from his Bag with efficient neatness. "Oh! Yeah... sounds good," he agreed. He trotted ahead a little ways to the next porch to deliver the fuel to last through LongNight, leapfrogging with Deimos until the street was done.

~Fin~