Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Nodding his head at Noah’s greetings, the arch of his brow was still reserved for Flora; content to know that others thought Erebos was a stalwart youth too. It was one thing experiencing it for themselves while raising the lad, it was another to hear the notions were extended out into the rest of the world. He laughed at her insinuation, a low and deep rumble cast about the ice and roots. “That is good. I would not want him complacent. And thank you.” Pausing, taking a breath, he wondered if this was where he could cast some multitudes; figuring it’d come out sooner or later. “Evie is expecting another in Leafchange.” At which he gave forth another grin, that determined set to his brow as Noah began to list off the necessities.He could hear Flora’s murmur nearby, barely stifling his snort. “I have never had such requests either. Last fun one was probably taste-testing your fathers’ choices of wedding cakes.” Unless of course one presumed monster slaying and Family battling and wars to be an all-encompassing amusement – depended on the day.
Resolutely unbothered though, he shifted his hair into a messy, haphazard bun, then made his way over towards some of the gnarled limbs and decrepit roots; content to, at the very least, unleash a large bout of fire into the knotted proportions, eager to engulf and unfurl.
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Deimos uses his Mastered Fire on some limbs and roots.
