In my stomach is butterflies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Between Belial continuing to be an annoying git, and Elizabeth peeking through windows, Deimos didn’t withhold his snort. “They are likely at the shop,” in case she wanted to view and witness the family there – though he’d likely still discourage glancing into their home. He certainly wouldn’t want anyone doing the same to his and Evie’s shelter and sanctuary. Arching a brow and shaking his head at multitude of antics, he placed the bundle along the steps, counted the amount, and when satisfied with the number, aimed to return to the sled. If Elizabeth expected the Sword to be less than pragmatic, she would have to look elsewhere. He had a difficult time ignoring the ongoing circumstances, especially when it had arrived at Halo’s doorstep not too many seasons ago, premonitions and warnings weren’t being sent in mass, and the eventuality of their movements would have to lead to action. He’d already seen war in multiple lifetimes. The drums, the blood, the violence was far too ingrained in his bones, enamel, and soul. The heart of the matter rested upon Starfall – and leaving his family behind to potentially sacrifice himself for the greater good (which he’d always done), still bit and tore. “Of course,” he murmured. “But we cannot ignore what is going on around us.” They could steal moments, now and then, but children were more than instances. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace