DEIMOS
Another low chuckle echoed and bounded from his chest, real, tangible, whole, when Aisha cast her remark. He’d take enough to feed a few families along Halo’s residents, and then be content. So while he worked, the beast merely listened, a clear semblance by the way he tilted his head in her direction, the sharp slide of his gaze every so often. To hear she wasn’t certain wasn’t a surprise – many of them remained knotted and gnarled in various directions, none at all, or gazing upon options, pathways, that could simmer, seethe, or ignite either way. The Sword’s had always been flanked and regarded in fortifications, but the who, where, and why had altered course, and while some contortions instilled their murky abyss, those lines had remained the same. A glance towards the blade on her hip caused the indent of a smirk, then he went back to his hunting knife and its own edges, casting determined lines along pelts.“There will always be a need for protection and defense.” A quiet murmur, consigning himself into those impressions and standards both of them held aloft. How many times had something occurred, bombarded, and sieged? How many times had they gone against monsters, either human or fellow creature? Getting stronger, training, was deemed par for the course, but there could be a goal, a direction in mind too. Perhaps Aisha would find it along the way, as she became more and more immersed in other lands. “Sometimes it is the circumstances around us that shapes it.”
Deimos had only just turned back to the doe when Aisha voiced her inquiry about Halo – and it gave him some pause, a moment or two of self-reflection. The General made no mention of how the affliction had carried him there, as if the backdrop, the scenery, the tundra had been the last thing the Reaper had seen, and it was damned to be the Sword’s too. Of how he likely would have remained frozen, dead, and covered with snow, with ice, bones never found. Of how he’d ultimately almost given in, fallen, piece by piece by piece, strand by strand, until he’d been completely unfurled, desperate, alone, and done.
His attention still on the carcass, the monolith ensured his voice would carry, and none of it containing the measures of sorrow and somberness in the wake of all these changes. “I used to live in the mountains, so I am reminded of a home I once had.” Of a world he couldn’t honor or yield within again; but the summits, peaks, and valleys were still here. “The people are strong. Survivors.” They had to be, out along the glacial footholds. “And friends took me in when they could have easily left me.” Worthless and inept, delirious and out of his mind. “I thought I would pay them back.” Which would remain to be seen.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
