To transport some wood

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Sword had delivering stores of meat to families on his list for the morning, and grateful to be nowhere near any office, he’d obliged by hastening out his sled, placing the wares within, and ensuring Belial and Zuriel got efficient exercise by rambling or flying after him. Checking over the names of which households and broods required the trip, he folded the paper back into the pocket of his long coat, and persisted down the road. Only to come upon another – vaguely a stranger, though he probably shouldn’t have been – panting and resting, near some dumped lumber. Arching his brow, and gazing back at his companions, he shrugged his shoulders before dragging the vessel over, and speaking to the individual. “Do you need help?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace