Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deimos wouldn’t readily take blame for any trickery or ruses from his son, though one might be able to see how there was ample amounts of influence throughout the house. Snorting again as Amhran admitted to being duped by the infant – the Sword had only been a victim once - he smiled as he glanced over, Erebos’ confusion evident on his features. Brows furrowed in a similar facets to his father’s, the youth gasped, then squealed once he found he didn’t particularly care, and began to wave the rattle with his own limbs and Amhran’s pulls combined.”elp!” he exclaimed afterwards in mimicking as best he could. This incited more wiggling and squirming and laughing, before he promptly offered it to the Raeling again, but closer to the demigod’s mouth, in case he too would like a bite.
Gazing again from the corner of his eye and grimacing, he strived to concoct similar rosettes with more than just the green hues – dipping his paintbrush into a more vibrant pink, a vivid blue – tilting his head and pondering over the circumstances. “Do those look all right?"
