He waited, a belligerent tapestry of patience and distortion, staring over the potent anarchy, the sway, the swell, of the reflecting abyss. He paid little heed to Thranduil’s appearance, to Ode’s wandering, to Ashamin’s strung silence – merely embarking in a sea of curiosity and meticulous pondering. The monster was almost expectant of something (for when the God of Time manifested himself there was always some great source of dramatics and theatrics, dominating prowess to ensure he still reigned over their mortal selves), and his piercing glare watched and witnessed the mirror cast its sparks, ignite its fury, and he wondered what he’d be lectured for on this occasion. But as the face warped, as the dial altered, naught jumped from its threads, from its glass, from its veneer, but the bright, blinding sparks of storms, of electricity (and now he thought he was about to be punished – his form grew all the more rigid and taut), swarmed and bellowed: the taste of triumph and victory, the anarchical pulse of malady and defiance, a soundless bounty of words echoing (look to the east), then naught at all. No deity. No explanation.

Deimos in his childhood years would have screamed in confusion and outrage. The present behemoth merely stared, still patient, still composed, but befuddled and spellbound by the strange reception they’d received. What did any of it mean? What were they to do? And because he was not an oracle (and never would be based on his defiance of the Gods many times over; his irreverence was rarely received well), because he had naught to go on, he turned his indifferent features towards the Haruspex, and listened to his words, his explanations, his take upon the subject.

A great change – when wasn’t there change? When weren’t they prescribed to a host of trials and tribulations? When weren’t they surrounded by ridiculous antics (wraiths, demons, pestilence, shadows, sitting in caves or fetching for the Gods’ latest project)? What was in the east? Instead of lurking in his eroding force, in his stubborn, tenacious frame, he managed to bestow a nod and conjure words amidst the frustration and the impending whims facing his herd yet again. “We will prepare as best we can.” How and what for would be determined amidst the snow and the chill, along the restless avenues of time, space, and persistence. They’d persevere, just as they had before, over and over again, never truly uprooted from their resolute ferocity.