Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
And so it was that the Sword wouldn’t have to wait very long for bedlam to start – Evie made certain. Her voice, and the subsequent miniature ambush, were familiar and distinct enough to know exactly where to pinpoint the sudden onslaught and chill rampaging down his neck and along his spine – a wry snort following a rumbling drawl. “Really?” Permitting a single undulation through rippling muscles underneath boundaries of fur, he rolled his eyes further when she’d gone invisible. Ordinarily he might say something about betrayal, but Deimos was probably owed this mischief from some antics long since before, and shrugged. Presuming she couldn’t be very far in her attempts to flee, or the press of tracks in the snow still visible, he launched a counterattack by snagging at any fresh powder he could find with water incantations, and unfurling them in various directions.
Could passersby and onlookers get caught in the midst? Probably.
