where I save you and you save me
Peace and repose were scarce figments nowadays, but Deimos made certain to carve it out of the void when he could. Tiny branches and brambles, slender boughs and threads, not knotted or gnarled but there – held fast to the ties in his home and family. So it was only after an extended trip to Torchline, and a visit to the Citadel’s shrine, that he followed the path lines of sanctity and shelter for himself.
No knives flung or crusted blood; but the sentiments of weary bones finding their way to resting places. Eventually, he wound his way into the early afternoon with Erebos, unwilling to bother Evie during her own work (for now), and planting themselves amidst the library. A den and haven of its own creation, the fire in the hearth roared, ravenous and content with the stoked parallels, and the two situated themselves at a table. Belial was curled up before the fire, and Zuriel was out in the yard, munching hay under her newest blanket.
Deimos, unsurprisingly, had already pulled out a large parchment with the Citadel map already outlined and drawn, beginning to draw stones placed around the filaments. Two mugs of hot tea waited, plumed and ready for whenever the Evergreen found her way to them, and Erebos, deeply ensconced in his own work, marveled at large, sweeping turns of his crayon. What the art would truly render remained to be seen, but given his jovial giggles and delightful expressions, often showing his father the wondrous display, his parents would probably have to ask later on about the most accurate of depictions.
No knives flung or crusted blood; but the sentiments of weary bones finding their way to resting places. Eventually, he wound his way into the early afternoon with Erebos, unwilling to bother Evie during her own work (for now), and planting themselves amidst the library. A den and haven of its own creation, the fire in the hearth roared, ravenous and content with the stoked parallels, and the two situated themselves at a table. Belial was curled up before the fire, and Zuriel was out in the yard, munching hay under her newest blanket.
Deimos, unsurprisingly, had already pulled out a large parchment with the Citadel map already outlined and drawn, beginning to draw stones placed around the filaments. Two mugs of hot tea waited, plumed and ready for whenever the Evergreen found her way to them, and Erebos, deeply ensconced in his own work, marveled at large, sweeping turns of his crayon. What the art would truly render remained to be seen, but given his jovial giggles and delightful expressions, often showing his father the wondrous display, his parents would probably have to ask later on about the most accurate of depictions.
Deimos
and we save each other over and over, a hundred times, endlessly
