DEIMOS
His eyes went to the shield; bone, infused with desert contortions. His head tilted mildly at the notions of building something after one’s father; if there was a touch of a small smile there at the thought, he didn’t say why. Perhaps his own existence, amidst the flames especially, would carry on some legacy, but he certainly had never felt shame in his magic, spreading the notion that no other Abandoneds should either. “Very nice,” came on the rumble of approval, a well-meaning nod. “Are you making things after both of your parents?” When the inquiry came back to him, his eyes roamed over the wide-open landscape. “I have been trying to increase power in my fire magic.” Much like when they’d trained last season – building on the tempest of incantations over and over again, until there was much more behind all those enchantments. “This time I need to use it defensively. We could probably make it work between all those parameters.” His brow arched as his gaze went back to Iskra, giving him the opportunity to express ideas, or the basic notion of having him come towards the Sword, and Deimos simply trying not to burn him while guarding and securing his own footholds.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
