[SE] all is not frost

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame While Aria was secure, Belial certainly was not – inwardly, Deimos could simply roll his eyes and not entertain the notions of the peryton thinking he’d somehow been replaced. But one couldn’t always presume the carnivorous deer was out of ideas, for as soon as those high and mighty cat eyes peered his way, he did his best Zuriel impression and simply unfurled his wings, ghosting upwards so that he hovered above Deimos’ head – and therefore the cub’s. The Sword sighed, casting another snort into the vicinity, and nodded at Damien’s intentions – it’d been his plan regardless, with assistance or not. “Sure. Thank you for the help.” So again he fell into silence and concentration while the companions had their silent bickering contest; concentration and focus honed in on the incantations flowing through him, the beat of his pulse as he orchestrated stone filaments and earthen sentiments, sediments, to bend to his will. They sharpened at his request with no bluster; filling in the cracks and crevasses of old, primordial predicaments tucked amidst the ice, especially around the windows, melding and folding the elements until they could do naught more than obey. It went along silently, quietly, steady, unceasing, down the length of the wall, tracing over the foundations. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace