“And see the frost foxes,” he rumbled in an echo, agreement, and accord. Deimos would’ve offered his family the world if they’d have taken the offer – but he wasn’t built on false convictions either. His bones were carved from determination out of ethers of melancholy; he could grant the notions of journeying back and forth across their realm. Head above the surface, striving to swim and sweep along the tides – these were far simpler, far easier.
When Erebos was finished, Deimos dragged him away from the embankment again, listening to the youth giggle at the movement. Shaking his head, content to hear the sounds of the youth’s jubilation once more, he fixed his eyes upon their containers. “Think we should add anything else to them?” Maybe something along the outside, upon the glass, for more into the symbolics and role Safrin offered to them.
When Erebos was finished, Deimos dragged him away from the embankment again, listening to the youth giggle at the movement. Shaking his head, content to hear the sounds of the youth’s jubilation once more, he fixed his eyes upon their containers. “Think we should add anything else to them?” Maybe something along the outside, upon the glass, for more into the symbolics and role Safrin offered to them.
deimos
Never let them drain the river of your soul
