slow drifts and anchors

Deimos The last battle had provided more aches and pains than the previous; his body kept him attuned and aware in the aftermath. Burns wrapped over portions of the skin on his legs and arms, and though he wouldn’t show the aches and pains through careful, orchestrated, and long, sweeping movements, they were a stark reminder of other days – of war, of times before strength, fortitude, and might. Sharing Erebos with Evie while she socialized on the beach, the youth was strapped to his chest in one of the many slings he’d created, briefly awakened from his nap by the Sword’s movements. Luckily, the infirmary tent wasn’t too far away, and he seemed lulled by the sound of the waves pressing or crowds buzzing from recent altercations, head bobbing above the hardy cloth. When Deimos wasn't distracted by necessities, he'd have to ask Hotaru later about other motions. But as he looked up towards the portable shelter, he recognized the fellow monster hunter nearby – and grimaced inwardly, wondering if Fox had been looking for him, and for how long. He hadn’t much of a lull between the two, so perhaps some of that could be forgiven. “Fox,” his vocals rumbled as he closed in, gesturing with a smaller wave as his arm stung. “How were your travels?” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime