Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deimos carefully, and purposefully, looked away as Elizabeth slipped; perhaps pretending he hadn’t seen it (and tucking the inward laugh well down into his ribs). “You are welcome,” he shrugged, turning his face into the wind rather than hiding into his jacket; eternally bound to frozen tundras and the glacial paths across lifetimes. It was a frequent occurrence to accompany others, and something he was akin to do for protection, shielding, and might – placed within the rather large and overwhelming schedule he was barely managing.Where Elizabeth might’ve been discomfited by the entire expanse of the Sea of Glass, the Sword felt liberated along its breadth and range. Nothing enclosed, shackled, or tangled together; just might and beauty, dangerous and powerful.
Though – for now it seemed to harbor gourds. One would think it was far too cold for them to even be out here. Resilient little things.
He couldn’t help the snort as it approached on a sheet of ice. “I think we fought one of its relatives in the Grounds,” as he gestured towards the little cretin with his jaw.
