until my dying day

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame His focus wasn’t wholly upon her; not with the shouting going on, the streamline of people wavering back and forth, headed to peer along the gates. Only her explanation seemed to pulse through the bond with any sense of what was transpiring – and reality struck a cold, hard truth in his mind. A group had gone out there. Had likely heard the broadcast. Wanted to help. Had gotten in over their heads. His jaw fixed into a hardset, determined line. He’d found out more in mere moments; likely from the soldiers upon the wall, but given her wounds, things hadn’t gone well. Okay. Taking another long, deep breath, he crouched beside the snowy owl, summoning his companion from where he’d dashed away. Zuriel can heal you, and then we will figure things out. Reassurance, at the very least. The footsteps of the unicorn came thundering along cobblestones and snow covered paths, snorting with a distinct toss of her head; visibly unimpressed. Deimos didn’t render any other emotion, perhaps still too startled, too stunned, or too apprehensive about the whole ordeal. But the mare lowered her head, her blue horn beginning the healing process as it touched lightly upon the owl’s wing. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace