Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Repeating the steps with Erebos’ other foot so that lined together, the imprint might look like a tree, if one turned their heads just right, Deimos snorted, wiping the child’s limb as the youth giggled with unironic glee. He waited for Amhran’s reaction too though – because while the demigod always seemed to be the agreeable sort, he didn’t want him to feel pressured into something too. Amicability was all well and fine, if coercion wasn’t burning behind all of it. Wrangling Erebos with one hand, as the infant opted to dangle off his arm, the Sword watched as Amhran followed along, the question made him smile, laugh a little. “She does. Have you seen some of her work?” The Evergreen had adorned some of their library with the décor, and portions of the guild, greenhouse…anywhere else it would suit aesthetically or please her. Given time and space, and perhaps she’d have more ample opportunities now, he might view more. Duties and responsibilities had certainly made his own hobbies far out of reach.
Not wanting to reflect on mantles pressed well into his shoulders, he dipped his own brush into the same dark green hues, writing names and dates in the bottom corner. The inquiry gave him pause though, granting a small grin again. “A celebration of turning another year older. All of us, including yourself, Erebos, Evie, and I, have them this season.” Not that he’d ever commemorated his own. Sometimes survival was simply that.
