I carried my own ashes to the mountains
The news caused his spine to straighten, each point of bone notched and knotted. Confirmation of his suspicions after discussions with Noah meant he’d seen this coming, but there’d been no official capacity until now – and as much as his eyes craved to glance towards the mountain range, he kept his gaze on the herald. A long, slow breath unfurled, along with the apprehension for his home, for his people, and everything else contained within. It sounded like a death sentence, and very rarely did Deimos ever look inward to his own demise. Perhaps because he'd drawn himself into those blades so many times.
“All right,” sounded like acceptance in a low rumble. Maybe it was. Or his thoughts were immediately drifting to everything else that had to be done, people he had to speak to, lines he had to draw; never quite ready to leave despite how life had treated him. A crushing blow, swallowed down bit by bit until it gnarled its way through his chest. “Is there anything else I can do? Or need?” For such a trip? For himself? For others? Or was that just it? Items collected. Magic and shifts pooled. As ready as he was going to be for the inevitable.
“All right,” sounded like acceptance in a low rumble. Maybe it was. Or his thoughts were immediately drifting to everything else that had to be done, people he had to speak to, lines he had to draw; never quite ready to leave despite how life had treated him. A crushing blow, swallowed down bit by bit until it gnarled its way through his chest. “Is there anything else I can do? Or need?” For such a trip? For himself? For others? Or was that just it? Items collected. Magic and shifts pooled. As ready as he was going to be for the inevitable.
DEIMOS
