DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
He snorted at the comment first, then permitted one round of laughter – a deep rumble meant to fill the room. A shake of his head followed, and Zuriel seemed to presume the same, teeth going for some portion of Aisha’s hair, snagging at it with a tease. The monolith resented the notion of being called mushy, but allowed it to pass without comment, another shrug undulating through his shoulders. He’d only been truthful – the mare had kept him alive on occasions where he should’ve been perished, gone, and vanquished. She'd done the same for many others.
So while Zuriel set out to irritate or amuse Aisha, he tilted his head, lost in some quiet thought again. Without the drink to distract him, he could only air on the side of calculating, pondering, eventually settling his eyes back upon the being doomed to be cold for the rest of the season. The subject matter of bonded individuals and animals could continue to be a distraction and deterrent from her otherwise morose conjectures, so Deimos prompted. “What would you want for a companion?” If she’d had a choice, with circumstances and moments aligning.
So while Zuriel set out to irritate or amuse Aisha, he tilted his head, lost in some quiet thought again. Without the drink to distract him, he could only air on the side of calculating, pondering, eventually settling his eyes back upon the being doomed to be cold for the rest of the season. The subject matter of bonded individuals and animals could continue to be a distraction and deterrent from her otherwise morose conjectures, so Deimos prompted. “What would you want for a companion?” If she’d had a choice, with circumstances and moments aligning.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
