Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Belial promptly landed on the sled with a great thud and obnoxious trill through his clenched jaw. Proud of himself, he tore a few feathers off, plucking them away until he could get into the meaty configurations. Hak Etme sounded less and less agreeable with every passing snippets of its unwelcoming picture. Deimos wouldn’t be hypocritical; he knew Halo must’ve sounded like that to many as well – with the cold, the monsters, the dragons…but they’d also had a threshold and domiciles set up for hundreds of years. There’d been shelter long since instilled – the desert didn’t benefit from such reaches. He had to wonder if that place, much like other lands from the past in the past, could’ve been anointed and blessing with something, and change, time, had reclaimed it back into the wilderness. “That is certain,” he supplied with a rogue wrinkle of his nose. This terrain and region didn't give them chances to be bored or restless either.
Tugging on the rope once more, the vessel slid gracefully down the next street while he listened to a few of the monster appearances, shaking his head a little. “I trust you took care of them easily enough?”
