DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
The wolves must have known; within an instant the calm ambience broke away for something fierce and feral, echoing through the throngs of their attuned natures like a beating drum. In Deimos’ heart it sounded like war, reverberating and resounding, and in Noah’s vocals it sounded like uproar and upheaval, a call to arms the Sword had already been mustering. But he valued the ferocity, the anger, the abhorrence for what it was, and for what it meant: the hunter was committed to this stark, beautiful, chilling, and dangerous world, and didn’t want to lose it either. Not by the trappings of the Voice, not by the smug facets of Neron, not by the twisted, bizarre choices of their Warden. His fury didn’t match Noah’s – he’d already had time to contemplate, and he smothered it down into his ribs and spine for another day, another hour, when he could act upon the emotion.
But he listened, absorbing the rage and its worth, brewing in his cold, cold nonchalance, balancing out the fervency with a malevolence lacquered in bitterness. I always wondered why he was allowed to stay. Perhaps meant to be a little pawn in the Voice’s schemes; ensconced here, in the ice and snow, where he could again meander his way into a regime, topple it again for the sake of the goddess. For the sake of himself. And now clambering, whispering in the Warden’s ear; they could see the eventuality, the writing on the wall.
Something had changed and altered, but it hardly seemed to matter at the moment. Deimos remained still as Noah paced, as the wrath and contempt burned against his insides, and the solemn, painstaking decrees solidified themselves all over again. Safrin has given me a task, and I intend to see it through. The layers were unsaid, but his piercing gaze sweeping back to the lynx likely said it all. A breath pooled from his chest, and then his stare returned over the horizon, watching the back of the wolf pack driving onward into the gradient dusk. Halo cannot belong to the Voice.
But he listened, absorbing the rage and its worth, brewing in his cold, cold nonchalance, balancing out the fervency with a malevolence lacquered in bitterness. I always wondered why he was allowed to stay. Perhaps meant to be a little pawn in the Voice’s schemes; ensconced here, in the ice and snow, where he could again meander his way into a regime, topple it again for the sake of the goddess. For the sake of himself. And now clambering, whispering in the Warden’s ear; they could see the eventuality, the writing on the wall.
Something had changed and altered, but it hardly seemed to matter at the moment. Deimos remained still as Noah paced, as the wrath and contempt burned against his insides, and the solemn, painstaking decrees solidified themselves all over again. Safrin has given me a task, and I intend to see it through. The layers were unsaid, but his piercing gaze sweeping back to the lynx likely said it all. A breath pooled from his chest, and then his stare returned over the horizon, watching the back of the wolf pack driving onward into the gradient dusk. Halo cannot belong to the Voice.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
