DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The distance didn’t hide the familiar voice beckoning across the landscape, and for an instant, the Sword froze. An intense dislike, a myriad of bitterness, an edge of rancor shifted within his chest; inherent and contemptuous, and as he raised his head towards the Flood, the level of indifference measured on his features might have been just as lethal as a furrowed brow. It was the contemplative fringe of a predator, narrowing his gaze, contemplating options.
Destruction – he’d promised it before. Warnings. Another ominous declaration they both knew he’d keep.
His eyes narrowed; a silent assertion of power and demolition should Sunjata meander any closer. “I doubt you have anything I need,” though his piercing stare slid to bundles and letters; jaw clenching, feathering, withholding any other pernicious ventures. For the moment.
Destruction – he’d promised it before. Warnings. Another ominous declaration they both knew he’d keep.
His eyes narrowed; a silent assertion of power and demolition should Sunjata meander any closer. “I doubt you have anything I need,” though his piercing stare slid to bundles and letters; jaw clenching, feathering, withholding any other pernicious ventures. For the moment.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
