and then we mend again

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame With no need for rebuttal, even if he had expected it, the Sword snorted, and then contorted and created more shingles for Noah’s end of the roof. Tossing them over, he returned to his crouch, hammering in another section, pulling and tugging to ensure they were stuck and held fast. The following quip though caused another sharp bark of laughter, eventually fading into the wind and snow. “That does not surprise me.” Not after having been witness to Cordelia’s starstruck gaze constantly following the Sentinel’s as they built cabins during exile, or her fretting, worrying, and nonstop notions about the man being sent to Stormbreak, and thereafter, during leadership alterations. “Best give her some time though.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace