broad edged and sharp

Liam

I've seen faces I may never see again
I've been places I never could have dreamt

Without Deimos, it could certainly be argued that Liam would have fared much worse in his attempt to assist Halo’s hunters, perhaps that he would even have fallen out here on the tundra, where no one but Maea would know to look for him, and she unable to come for fear of freezing. It was luck that had brought him to Deimos before the ursur, and he would have no small amount of thanks to give at the next shrine he came across. For now, though, he had only the battle in mind, and the grim satisfaction of his arrow finding its mark (mostly).

And then the ursur was launching one final assault upon the shield before it fell, ultimately, into a heap beyond the wall of stone. Still wary, a new arrow nocked on the bowstring, Liam risked a glance at Deimos. ”Is it dead?” he asked, because he didn’t want to assume that ursurs didn’t play dead to trick their prey - gods knew he was ill-equipped for a hunt on the tundra, far more so than he had known at the outset.

I've touched hands with those who've touched me
Seen the marks, the skeleton keys