[o] [SE] One good turn

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Given the way Flowerbirth was already going for him, snacks and amusements were far from the Sword’s agenda. Instead, his occupation had gnarled its way down his shoulders until he could feel every burdening aspect across them – but still, his spine was an unyielding thing, and walked down the street with purpose, intentions clear and forthright on the multitudes he needed to see and visit today. Erebos walked alongside though, teetering and tottering, so Deimos slowed his pace until it was an eventual crawl as the youth giggled and clattered occasionally into his long legs, trying to find direction and balance. He likely smelled the aroma of fresh fruits though, and with giant baby hands, squealed and wiggled, one finger pointing nearby, to a girl on a bench. “No, you cannot have hers,” the Warden rumbled, snorting, picking up the boy so he was in his arms as they made their way to the stall. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace