Deimos
The fortitude of Deimos’ magic, and the threshold of the home, had ensured each and every fire remained stoked and lit, infernal and constant, for Kiada’s health, shelter, and sanctity. Uncertain how long it would take her to restore energy, especially after the way the chill had altered her so swiftly, he’d gone back and forth between duties; checking in during the sweeping morning hours before the sun rose, committing to missives, ensuring Evie was fine in the wake of looming labor in days near, and promising skirmishes thereafter.
Upon his second return, while he toiled over breakfast, and the aroma of bacon, eggs, and toast filled the air, he heard her springing down the stairs. He had to snort, surprised by the lively appearance after yesterday, but pleased for it, nonetheless. “Morning,” he rumbled with the familiar arch of his brow. “Figured we would need more fuel for the next venture.” Belial, wicked as ever, sat as close as possible to the Sword’s ankles, tiny deer tail wagging. "You recover well?"
Upon his second return, while he toiled over breakfast, and the aroma of bacon, eggs, and toast filled the air, he heard her springing down the stairs. He had to snort, surprised by the lively appearance after yesterday, but pleased for it, nonetheless. “Morning,” he rumbled with the familiar arch of his brow. “Figured we would need more fuel for the next venture.” Belial, wicked as ever, sat as close as possible to the Sword’s ankles, tiny deer tail wagging. "You recover well?"
it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites
It's the fire it ignites
