Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deepfrost, for all its merits within his family and their usual noteworthy turns of the sun, still brought its own hovering sense of foreboding. LongNight stretched as an ominous beacon no matter how many years he’d been separated from its cruelty and malice amidst the Grounds, even long after said monsters had been slain. The conflict around its eternal evening always spawned a particular range of preparation and attempts he could never quite shake; and while he no longer craved to shut every door and tell no one to open the apertures, the practicality of it remained the same. There was work to be done. People to take care of. Harsher elements to defy and combat all of it.For this interim, he’d taken one of the many sleighs and had loaded it up with firewood, intentions clear and concise, a list of names in his hand and plenty of people to snag and take the bundles. Belial, sitting in his usual spot amongst the few seats, bellowed and hollered to anyone who passed by, and the Sword sighed, glad he hadn’t brought either Erebos or Idalia out – knowing the companion would have stirred both up to shenanigans.
Dragging it along the main pathway, his eyes caught a familiar presence, brow arching as he noted Colt near the shrine. Perhaps she’d stayed a few days more after the skijoring – though that sort of prediction had obviously fumbled. While the peryton hooted a hello, he nodded, not intending to bother much more than a dry joke and speculation. “Thought you would be headed back towards the desert,” he rumbled in greeting.
