[seasonal event] arise from the dust

Deimos His eyes turned away from the sky now, the piercing juncture granting her full attention for the moment, snorting at her whine and the airs of petulance, listening at her suggestion with the quirk of a brow, the hint of a smile. “Do what you wish.” Since she would anyway, regardless of anyone else’s expectations – the audacity, the fire, still resting there, still strong and enduring, despite the volleys of hardship, triumphs, and defeats. Not embers. Not cinders. Conflagrations and infernos, flames simply needing a reason, a notion, all over again. Perhaps it would come with Halo. Perhaps it would come with Fiat Lux. Perhaps it would simply construct itself once more with time, with patience, with fortitude and might; strength for strength. He finally rose from his seat along the grass and ground, brushing off some dried portions of mud, the rest still sticking to clothes and skin, wet, clustered, in hair, along fabric, distortion, chaos, and bedlam now a written crescendo upon flesh and bone. The beast proffered a hand for her to snag, pull her up from the earth. “Come on. We can try and snag some bread.” Mischievous inclinations and hints prospered along his crooked grin, before they could meander into the bakery on semblances and insinuations of devilry. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime