DEIMOS
He hovered and harpooned over the nuances of his shelter and sanctum, almost like one more protective veil, over something he’ll have to leave behind again for the grip of LongNight. Then, without growing too nostalgic, because it’s not the Aurora Basin, it’s not the lands of Isilme, it’s not the shifting sands of the Moonlit Tides, he tilted to the right, brandishing his unfurled wings along the outskirts of wood and glades. The wind bolstered, lifted, and something about the movement made him want to sink his talons into anything, a press of control and contorted regard sifting through his mind; predator and protector, incapable of melding into anything but.Her arrival at his side would’ve inspired an arched brow, a Cheshire grin, in human form – as an eagle, he could do neither, and instead instigated some motion of shock, surprise, and bewilderment, mockingly so – self-deprecating manners when he couldn’t begin to believe others would offer him anything but slights or notes on his defects. Perhaps that was as much part of the once-king as the mountains or oceans; striving to be better, better, better. He didn’t make any measures on how many times Amalia had to hasten that he was worth anything at all. Is that a compliment? warmed its way into a chuckle, before he roamed downward, a descending notion of speed, of swift, keen upheaval, intending to make her do the same.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
