Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Erebos brightened more at the inclusion of himself – babbling as his fingers wound their way through Deimos’s hair, ensuring there’d be multiple knots and gnarls for his father to thread and brush through later. ”Something pwetty!” presuming, of course, he’d been asked the question. The Sword snorted but ultimately agreed, leaving that answer to hang along the marketplace. When nothing seemed to be around though, that age-old sullen aspects threatened to settle in. “I am heading this way,” further down the square, knowing he only had so much time. “Might see you back through, depending on how the day goes,” he sighed, while the toddler waved goodbye, companions following alongside, a final, infant outcry settling through. ”Good wuck!”
[FIN]
