everything I let go
Deimos made good on his promises; something Erebos was beginning to learn as a family trait, some Ignatius convictions; not to utter the sentiments unless you could truly fulfill them. Flying over the vastness of the Tundra on his father’s back, thunderwing plumage abound, the youth could see nearly everything from there, hands clutched in feathers and around their makeshift bags, The Greenwing unfurled before them in all its grandeur – the heightened verdantry beautiful to behold in the sunlight too, and he took it for all it was worth, with wide eyes and glory and youthful aplomb cast into his ribs; the excitement building and banking as they took another sloping turn, and eventually landed beside the bubbling stream.
Climbing off his father’s back, and adjusting his furs, his luxere hat back down over his ears, he grinned, passing over the bag of holding as the Sword shifted back. “That was awesome!” as were all the shifts; granting and giving him far too many ideas for the future, not yet voiced. Bouncing on his heels instead, his gaze went from his father to the brook and back again. “When are we going to see them?” There’d been enough tales of frost foxes in books and within the guild, hearing all the soldiers’ talk amongst the barracks, or even the other Halovian kids, to fill his head with thoughts of grandeur and notions of calculations – Deimos had suspected the latter immediately.
Then, with an entirely different thing weighing on his mind, for he hadn’t voiced it within the house upon announcements, nor while on thunderbird indications (for he wouldn’t have received an answer), he glanced up at the Warden. “Also I don’t know how to be a big brother.”
Climbing off his father’s back, and adjusting his furs, his luxere hat back down over his ears, he grinned, passing over the bag of holding as the Sword shifted back. “That was awesome!” as were all the shifts; granting and giving him far too many ideas for the future, not yet voiced. Bouncing on his heels instead, his gaze went from his father to the brook and back again. “When are we going to see them?” There’d been enough tales of frost foxes in books and within the guild, hearing all the soldiers’ talk amongst the barracks, or even the other Halovian kids, to fill his head with thoughts of grandeur and notions of calculations – Deimos had suspected the latter immediately.
Then, with an entirely different thing weighing on his mind, for he hadn’t voiced it within the house upon announcements, nor while on thunderbird indications (for he wouldn’t have received an answer), he glanced up at the Warden. “Also I don’t know how to be a big brother.”
Erebos
has claw marks on it
