DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Belial had enough self-awareness to realize the Sword meant the warnings commanding and demanding through the bond. He ceased the screeching immediately, and scurried back to Deimos’ side, settling at the tall man’s legs and not budging an inch. The damage had already been done though, based on the stranger’s reactions, in between the dry humor, the noticeable tremors, and the long breaths. While the Warden’s features remained stoic, the inward scowl grew ever broader. The peryton noticeably glanced at the floor, bordering on the pretense of guilt and shame.
The other statement though caused some break in the tension and reticence, his head tilting vaguely, studying the outset of horns on the man’s head, immediately reminded of Kiada, the one who’d been caught in a trap, and Edmund; uncertain if he should be wary, or simply scrutinizing. Choosing the latter, he shook his cranium. “Hybrid.” Holding out his hand in some token manners, he supplied his name as well. “I am Deimos.”
The other statement though caused some break in the tension and reticence, his head tilting vaguely, studying the outset of horns on the man’s head, immediately reminded of Kiada, the one who’d been caught in a trap, and Edmund; uncertain if he should be wary, or simply scrutinizing. Choosing the latter, he shook his cranium. “Hybrid.” Holding out his hand in some token manners, he supplied his name as well. “I am Deimos.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
