Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Given Deimos’ own inclinations and biases towards the region, he took her jocular tones with half a grain of salt, snorting, gazing upwards briefly at the roads and pathways jutting outwards from the shrine and around the Citadel at large. How many could see this place as something terrible had never crossed his mind; having woven years into ensuring its success, winding determination into its boundaries and strongholds with every ounce of conviction the land had offered in return. It had its faults – as any place would – but time and time again the people and the terrain inspired her to dig deeper into the juncture.Though he figured that wasn’t why others visited – drawn by inspiration elsewhere. His gaze went back to her, brow arching once more as she deigned to inspect the threshold of seemingly endless timber. “First time we had tried it. Very entertaining.” Skijoring had offered the thrills and spills aspect to amusement amongst the wintry confines; he’d seen more people there than in the past few years, come to gather and watch amongst the thought of watching others triumph or falter. He nearly made a comment about similarities in her rodeo aspects, then remembered the aftermath, and quietly kept the notions to himself; offering dry tones instead. “Could probably do something similar in the sand.” Perhaps with a semblance of different equipment and animals.
At her offer of assistance, he’d oblige; having learned better to snag help when and where he could, especially nowadays. “If you want. I am making deliveries,” as he tugged back on the sleigh, and Belial made no maneuver to relinquish his position. The rope pulled taut and moved easily with his strength and the deft glide across the snow. “How are things in Hak Etme?”
