DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He waited, patient and obliging, as Fox calculated through the inquiry. Deimos hadn’t meant to make it confusing, but sometimes his pointed remarks still came across as vague inclinations, when not surrounded and accompanied by the thoughts constantly machinating through his mind – at least, out loud. That Dyrgra wasn’t like the Voice, at least in the ways of tying her believers so strongly to her that they’d die if without her presence, was comforting. One less worry and trepidation centered squarely on Kiada, at least. “No dependency then,” confirming with a nod. A relief he wouldn’t put into words, but slowly arched along his ribcage.
Fox’s statements gave him a brief pause though, and maybe he was asking too much. “My apologies,” he persisted with a tilt of his head, before studying the darkling picture again.
As for the other subject, he arched his brow. “It is all right.” Given his status, race, and who he was, the assumption had been correct. “I am loyal to Safrin.”
Fox’s statements gave him a brief pause though, and maybe he was asking too much. “My apologies,” he persisted with a tilt of his head, before studying the darkling picture again.
As for the other subject, he arched his brow. “It is all right.” Given his status, race, and who he was, the assumption had been correct. “I am loyal to Safrin.”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
