Deimos
He’d been up before the first streaks of dawn, out of habit, out of routine, out of necessity, pulled from warm beds to hunt along darker shrouds and twilight haze; reaching and plucking out animals courageous enough to sear along the cold, but daft enough to be caught by his machinations. The latest had been another grouse, separated from its flock, a bit too dim, a thinning out of weakened, unintelligent birds; already plucked, skillfully, tactfully, waiting for further ministrations. Then he’d carefully built a fire to ward off the morning’s chill, setting out more firewood by the hearth, listening to the heating crackle, proceeding to go about his day with little fanfare. Zuriel, apparently intending to be spoiled, nestled her way along the rug before the flames, and likely would’ve stretched herself out as the embers caught and the kindling snapped; had there not been a noise at the door, a scuffling along the unlocked aperture.
Uncertain who it could be at this hour, for Amalia had long since gone to the bakery, the unicorn waited as Deimos wandered upstairs, retrieving who knows what, rising from her prior position, gazing steadily as the door swung open. Likely greeting Kiada were her surprised, somewhat widened eyes, before meandering closer upon inspection – the girl familiar, there when she’d first been rescued by the Sword, and therefore a comforting individual. Her maw, her muzzle, went straight for the youth’s shoulder, where she pushed and pressed and acted obnoxious, intending to be granted some scratches and pets.
Deimos, for his part, only heard the words as they drifted along his house, dipping back down the stairs moments after, peeking his head around the wall – scrutinizing eyes eternally guarded at the notion of someone slipping into his corridors, his shelter, his sanctum, then altering with an inhale, an exhale. Kiada’s presence emboldened him instead of ensuring his nefarious, treacherous capabilities, she was free to invade his home, tilting his head to gauge his curiosity, his intrigue, and her health. “Yes,” he proffered in response, shaking his cranium, meandering further down and into the fold, arching his brow at Zuriel and her antics, before his eyes segmented back to the Harpy. She appeared better; though there was a gauntness to her, the strike of illness still chasing down remnants of blood and ichor. “How are you feeling?” The mountain meandered closer, reaching out in familiarity towards Auni, fingers intending to scratch along antlers and his cranium – briefly distracted by the recognized item in the luxere’s mouth. How? “Is that my bag?”
Uncertain who it could be at this hour, for Amalia had long since gone to the bakery, the unicorn waited as Deimos wandered upstairs, retrieving who knows what, rising from her prior position, gazing steadily as the door swung open. Likely greeting Kiada were her surprised, somewhat widened eyes, before meandering closer upon inspection – the girl familiar, there when she’d first been rescued by the Sword, and therefore a comforting individual. Her maw, her muzzle, went straight for the youth’s shoulder, where she pushed and pressed and acted obnoxious, intending to be granted some scratches and pets.
Deimos, for his part, only heard the words as they drifted along his house, dipping back down the stairs moments after, peeking his head around the wall – scrutinizing eyes eternally guarded at the notion of someone slipping into his corridors, his shelter, his sanctum, then altering with an inhale, an exhale. Kiada’s presence emboldened him instead of ensuring his nefarious, treacherous capabilities, she was free to invade his home, tilting his head to gauge his curiosity, his intrigue, and her health. “Yes,” he proffered in response, shaking his cranium, meandering further down and into the fold, arching his brow at Zuriel and her antics, before his eyes segmented back to the Harpy. She appeared better; though there was a gauntness to her, the strike of illness still chasing down remnants of blood and ichor. “How are you feeling?” The mountain meandered closer, reaching out in familiarity towards Auni, fingers intending to scratch along antlers and his cranium – briefly distracted by the recognized item in the luxere’s mouth. How? “Is that my bag?”
i rule the stars, not the other way around
