Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
His nose wrinkled in defiance again, mind binding over those melancholic threads with a ferocious ease; time and effort sometimes not appeased in the grand scale of where he’d meandered and wandered over time. Swallowing down a trace of bile, some manifestation of refusal, his eyes wandered back to hers as she ambled closer, a touch on his knee, a set line in his jaw. The words were difficult to accept, even if they ranged from her perspective, an outlier against all the vantage points and interpretations he had on himself. More than once he thought about speaking, but naught did it justice, and so he felt his eyes go downward, staring at the blanket, the grass, listening, striving to find the parallels. So he nodded, permitting only the lightest grin to rally in the corner of his mouth, a promise of no damsels. “I would not.” He still didn’t eat, mulling and thinking, drawn back into that heavy burden of quiet fortitude, walls threatening as an act of defense. Potentials of Torchline kept the deepest mire at bay, of whales and songs, of ways she’d found companions even beneath the waves. “That sounds nice.” Because it did – peaceful, tranquil. Attempting to salvage whatever mischief he had left in his mood, the smile remained. “You will have to memorize their tunes. Perform them for us.”
