DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
A content rumble pierced through plumes and fatigue, and though the inclination to strike back still lived and breathed in the back of his mind, he settled it down for other notions – their escape small and momentous, and not something he’d easily deploy away. Lathering the shampoo in between his hands, with some distinct smell of pine he’d picked up from a local shop, he layered it through the rest of her tresses, ensuring the rest of banshee significance no longer dignified any aspect of fire. Instead, it could be renewed with resilience and perseverance, and he took his time, carefully combing through with deft fingers, and then occasionally drifting a few bubbles together to place at the top of her head.
Narrowing his gaze, pinpointing it somewhere near shoulders and scars, then back to the tracings of elsewhere, he contemplated the notions further. Something in his chest didn’t allow for true victorious gloating; perhaps it was all the wounds left behind. Or people like Kiada, and wondering what would happen and shift and change now. “Maybe we celebrate survival then,” to honor their dead, for lives that sacrificed for the good of many, and then not obliterating their memory, but forging onward, shaping Halo for the better. And the rest that had made it too – stern and strong, stalwart and true.
The Sword snorted at the Evergreen’s face though at thoughts of weddings, but Deimos had lived amidst them during their exile, had persisted in teasing, and then knowing, understanding, when they finally came together. To hear of Cordelia’s results in the battle though altered the scheme of things though, as he combed through one last knot and gnarl, placing the shampoo deep within. “Because she ran?” The sudden act of cowardice seemed very unlike the woman; and to have strife with her own land caused a brief rankling of his spine – pondering over the uncertainties and complexities of a Natural’s order.
Narrowing his gaze, pinpointing it somewhere near shoulders and scars, then back to the tracings of elsewhere, he contemplated the notions further. Something in his chest didn’t allow for true victorious gloating; perhaps it was all the wounds left behind. Or people like Kiada, and wondering what would happen and shift and change now. “Maybe we celebrate survival then,” to honor their dead, for lives that sacrificed for the good of many, and then not obliterating their memory, but forging onward, shaping Halo for the better. And the rest that had made it too – stern and strong, stalwart and true.
The Sword snorted at the Evergreen’s face though at thoughts of weddings, but Deimos had lived amidst them during their exile, had persisted in teasing, and then knowing, understanding, when they finally came together. To hear of Cordelia’s results in the battle though altered the scheme of things though, as he combed through one last knot and gnarl, placing the shampoo deep within. “Because she ran?” The sudden act of cowardice seemed very unlike the woman; and to have strife with her own land caused a brief rankling of his spine – pondering over the uncertainties and complexities of a Natural’s order.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
