EVIE
like love is a bad word
As Evie ambles over she grabs an armful of snow and tosses it towards Belial in a dispersed, harmless shower, fond smile teasing at her lips. His unmistakable excitement had been heard loud and clear even in the depths of the snowy mound. Picking the tree closest to the one Deimos is working on out of a desire for both closeness and ease of conversation, Evie follows his lead in determining the right size sections and which branches were suitable for fires and which were mere tinder scraps not worth hauling. Her chagrined grin is half hidden by her loose, newly wetted hair. It hides the slight worry in the crinkling of her eyes, because she has been dissecting the bloodless creatures found en masse recently. Always divvying up the meat after, but until she has an answer there’s no need to darken the mood. “Patient confidentially I’m afraid, can’t discuss the entrails with you,” she sasses instead, wielding the play on words like a gleeful baton. Which is why she conveniently retrieves her own axe in case Deimos retaliates, returning to begin de-limbing the tree with gusto.
