DEIMOS
She was proud; a defining feature and characteristic of Kiada, eerily reminiscent of childhood lines along snow, and a king glancing down upon a youth who actually gave a damn about the earth she lingered upon. It wasn’t entirely the same now – but coated in places, lacquered in those same regards – bemused, he said nothing, just coiled himself amidst her superior traces. He maneuvered quickly, out of the range of her paw, flexing a wing towards her head as if in warning, but ultimately in jest. Perhaps they were no longer mere shadows then, players of ghosts and stages. Something more, not less.
He maneuvered, shifting for her to have some room, not bothering to shake the snow off his feathers; comfortable in its familiarity, in the wake of ice and rime, in the way that he’d once been permanently winter, made for a world descended into ice and terror. Where to? clambered along his senses, permitting her to take the lead now, yielded to the ground instead of the skies.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
