In my stomach is butterflies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Considering the amount he had hidden and tucked away in the annals of his own history, Deimos had no intentions of prying into anyone else’s. Unless they were doomed to repeat lines of nefariousness upon his land and people, he left their wiles unbothered; glancing back as he finished off the scone. Nodding at the notions of extra firewood, he considered the options. Assistance would make the work go faster, and even if he intended to avoid the stack of papers and missives sitting on his desk, eventually he would have to tend to the endless barrage. “If you want. I have a sled full already prepared by the barracks. Just need to start delivering.” He’d intended to start passing out the stacks once he’d returned from his patrol, but had been waylaid by her sign and his curiosity. Arching a brow, he’d wait for her agreement or dissent, eyes already flickering back up the street, mind calculating on addresses and necessities. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace