Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
With the approval of the Raeling, Deimos maneuvered to snag at his own new paper – smaller than the last as well. Opting to occupy Erebos with his nearby sword rattle, the youth was content to munch and teethe upon the object while the Sword began to lightly sketch out his plans with pencil – maneuvering it across the parchment until something slightly tangible began to form; in broadened little tufts of fur along the top portions of the drawing, and then paws and a tail. Only occasionally would he glance over, nosey to a fault, to see what Amhran was working on.The answer came to light though, and he snorted. “Some would prefer it, but no.” He couldn’t imagine holding four separate parties for each of them. It would take the entire season, much less the discomfort of so much socializing; gods knew he likely wouldn’t have the time either. “If you want to have it with just us, that is fine. Means more cake anyway,” and he winked – solidifying the machinations then and there.
