DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos, ever watchful and conscious of his companion’s wanderings, narrowed his eyes in speculation as Belial didn’t deign to annoy or irritate the dragon – which meant something else was giving way in the peryton’s mind. Sure enough, moments later, the deer had sequestered himself into the basket of the repaired mechanism, lowering himself, and then stilling entirely, unseen for a seconds, before a tag wagged in excitement.
Already plotting and planning some manner of insurrection against the creature, the Warden’s attention slid back to wariness for only seconds thereafter – as explanations of steaming bags and settling in amongst stumps didn’t bring unsettling or traumatizing news. The opening of the satchel brought forth warmth and aromas, and he couldn’t help but snort as the apprehensive and hesitant wiles of his mind could tend to something more comforting and assuaging. He nearly felt the need to apologize, but the explanation already felt ridiculous behind his teeth, so he angled for a shake of his head instead. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.” His hands went for the offered pie, permitting the heat to waft along for a moment in the residual, chilling air, as Talyson described his theft. “Will you get caught?” A notion that passed only because of how many times his own family had discovered him pilfering; before taking a contented bite.
His eyes flickered to where the messenger’s attention roamed, granting a nod while swallowing the concoction. “Some portions rotted out and mechanics were a bit off. Figured we could repair them, and then test them again.” The reasons why went unsaid; war was war.
Already plotting and planning some manner of insurrection against the creature, the Warden’s attention slid back to wariness for only seconds thereafter – as explanations of steaming bags and settling in amongst stumps didn’t bring unsettling or traumatizing news. The opening of the satchel brought forth warmth and aromas, and he couldn’t help but snort as the apprehensive and hesitant wiles of his mind could tend to something more comforting and assuaging. He nearly felt the need to apologize, but the explanation already felt ridiculous behind his teeth, so he angled for a shake of his head instead. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.” His hands went for the offered pie, permitting the heat to waft along for a moment in the residual, chilling air, as Talyson described his theft. “Will you get caught?” A notion that passed only because of how many times his own family had discovered him pilfering; before taking a contented bite.
His eyes flickered to where the messenger’s attention roamed, granting a nod while swallowing the concoction. “Some portions rotted out and mechanics were a bit off. Figured we could repair them, and then test them again.” The reasons why went unsaid; war was war.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
