DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
His walk was a slow, sedate one, head lowered, the gnawing aches beginning their residual grind; a warning he’d pressed too hard and his mind an indifferent wake just the same. He might’ve heard the guards passing their messages along, would expect it, but his eyes followed the path of his walk, nearly mesmerized at how they managed to meander without so much as a thought –
He only lifted his head when he could hear running, a rampaging of feet echoing and bounding across the snow, and in exhausted expectation, the glimmer of crimson hair and rapid motions spurned the tiniest of smiles in the corner of his mouth. The Sword stood like a wall as she stepped into him, arms curling around in the familiar abyss, ignoring the hiss of pain welling along the depths of his jaw and pooling from his shoulder. Strength and fortitude ensured she was tucked under his chin, in and amongst blood-soaked furs and coats, a long breath of relief curling and pluming, head bowing over hers.
Alive. They were alive. And maybe that was all that mattered for the moment.
He carried her a little further before answering anything, mind taking him along brushstrokes of patterns; the walk to his house, the bonds of companions’ reeling along cobwebs and nightmares. “I am okay,” which might’ve been a lie and a reassurance. “Probably need Zuriel though,” which might’ve been the only other hint of the barbarity and wounds layered beneath armor and clothing. But there was no release of her form against his, not yet, words upon words needing to be said and no right moment for them. “What about you?”
He only lifted his head when he could hear running, a rampaging of feet echoing and bounding across the snow, and in exhausted expectation, the glimmer of crimson hair and rapid motions spurned the tiniest of smiles in the corner of his mouth. The Sword stood like a wall as she stepped into him, arms curling around in the familiar abyss, ignoring the hiss of pain welling along the depths of his jaw and pooling from his shoulder. Strength and fortitude ensured she was tucked under his chin, in and amongst blood-soaked furs and coats, a long breath of relief curling and pluming, head bowing over hers.
Alive. They were alive. And maybe that was all that mattered for the moment.
He carried her a little further before answering anything, mind taking him along brushstrokes of patterns; the walk to his house, the bonds of companions’ reeling along cobwebs and nightmares. “I am okay,” which might’ve been a lie and a reassurance. “Probably need Zuriel though,” which might’ve been the only other hint of the barbarity and wounds layered beneath armor and clothing. But there was no release of her form against his, not yet, words upon words needing to be said and no right moment for them. “What about you?”
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
