Deimos
suns for bones and constellations for eyes
Content to note the return of her own blush, he snagged at the sled again, dragging her along in the wake of his grasp, down the last portions of streets and stones. He withheld the impulse to tease and contort the rest of the semblances out of her, to wonder how he’d proven anything – but even the Sword could accept the value of his strength, persistence, and growth in the past years. Devastation and heartache had been marring wounds sunken deep into his bones, cut and scorched and scarred, but not so blighted, or noticeable now. Not with support and sagacity, not with things waiting for him on beams of light, rather than everything else pressed and folded in voids. So he shook his head and snorted in response, tucking her within the breadth of his expanse as her shoulder brushed near his.Even as they cast along on sidewalks and bends in the road, his mouth tilted downward, resting against her hairline, stoked and stroked by fire; content, permitting a quiet rumble in response to the jest about appetites and inherited traits. Comforted by the ranges of humor, and treading lightly over emotions and sentiments he’d never allowed himself to ponder or wonder over, his tones were an amused venture, cast in their deep intonations. “Is that a veiled attempt to find a bigger house?”
