Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
The sudden dawning on her features caused a long and low snort to funnel through him, echoing eventually into a few bouts of laughter that bounded against some of the buildings they passed. Shaking his head, he granted and gave the space for her mind to work while he pulled the sled along. Deimos had understood the weight of many overbearing things in the past – had strived to find and grant help when and where he could, but also comprehended when it simply couldn’t be given. There were eternal circumstances wrapped around all of them; knotted and gnarled as they might’ve been, Caido also harbored a meticulous and charitable lot. He trusted he wasn’t the only who could lend support to Colt; and while unaware of some burnt edges, one didn’t always have to look at the fringes. Where were the stronger fibers? The bearings and reinforcements? Listening though, he unfurled another long breath, amused. “I see – is it my turn to be bribed?” The Sword couldn’t say he’d never been manipulated – but that was a potent turn of phrase for something he’d already extended to be lent – after all, Colt had assisted in many overtures here in Halo. “I am not picky,” he mused instead, a truth of the matter – and then she could focus on those who might require a stronger pull.
He hadn’t expected the Boneyard to hold anything but factors of yesteryear – but he churned the notions over in his head as they came to the next stop. “The Sunshine Pools must get it from somewhere,” unless it was always fresh rainfall tarnished into toxicity. “There was a well we had to pour water into, years ago, during the war against the Voice and the Ascended, there.” Whether or not it remained still in existence, especially some seven or more turns later, would be something to ponder - uncertain if anything had become of it or the churning additions had been soaked right back into the dunes and sand.
