near half-empty

Deimos The Sword was never quite certain about Libbs and what would transpire. He didn’t expect a dreamy sigh, or being called sweet (which was the second time in his dual lives, and it disturbed him to a point where he had to repress a shudder). He blinked back the compliments and cheer for several moments, mind whirling  back to the proclamations, as if they made no sense in his head. Except yes, he did care for Amalia, immensely, deeply, and he was hopeful she was content with him, no matter what ridiculous, asinine things he managed to pull. “I hope so,” was all he could manage to say, eyes downcast, a rumble in his chest, a long, withering sigh pummeled from its contents (snorting softly at the Jigs nickname). One step closer to his goal. One step closer towards Amalia regaining the ability to walk, to wander, and then they could march forward, onward, to whatever the next venture contained. His eyes flicked back to Libbs, a grateful nod extended, acknowledgment of her assistance and findings: without her he likely would still be amongst the leaf fronds and piles, desperate, irritated, and exasperated without a selection in sight. “Thank you for helping.” Then he concurred and agreed, ready to go back, leading the way from the entanglements of Fae shorelines and whispers of the river. {-FIN} Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime