DEIMOS
Safrin was not herself, plain to see in the toiling and measures in which she appeared. His brows furrowed, and perhaps that was the only length of concern or apprehension he’d display, eyes watching as the magic took effect. Fluid maneuvered, slathered, lacquered, seemingly tethered to the wooden bombardments, and the upgrade followed, and he stepped back, well out of the way, as further magic instigated and ensued. Powers well beyond his measure curled, coiled, and electrified, and then nothing at all. His gaze lifted back to the goddess, his platitudes of persistent manners reaching through: “Thank you.” The aftermath, the question lingering along (are you all right?) wouldn’t reach any further into the fold, he knew better than that, but it’d be something he’d bring up to Amalia. Was it the press of LongNight, or something else altogether? Just one more insinuation of the world not being all that it seemed? Regardless, perhaps for the here and now, they would have to pretend they were ready, for anything and everything.
{-FIN}
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
