The dusk held other, far stranger things; another man was nearby, and the predator’s instincts driven deep into Deimos’ mindset made his eyes narrow, made his head tilt, made him scrutinize in a feral, savage way. He waited for something to occur; a menacing strike towards his figure, a glancing blow, a weapon thrust in his direction, a signal, a sign, of wayward munitions and the ominous, threatening gallows. But it appeared as if nothing would happen, and he shrugged, one brow arched, penetrating, piercing, stare on the unfamiliar figure for a few more seconds, glancing out at the horizon after some time, hoping to catch a glimpse of a glow through the snow-tipped grass, through the arches of fields and rime. The realm seemed locked, frozen in its parallels, and he was just one more bystander, stuck in a loop of erosion and routine.
A keen, intense howl caught and reverberated through his ears, and once more the dangerous pulse of his nature forced him to stare at the form, now curled and scrunched up on the ground. The Reaper blinked for a few seconds, surprised, befuddled, by the actions taken place without his knowledge; how the man had come to be there, clutching his ankle in the dark, why he’d cried out so sharply, and what Deimos was supposed to do about it. The beast was the exact opposite of a healer; his hobbies included annihilation, vehemence, and the occasional dabble into bedlam, mayhem, and consigning enemies to hell. His skills at mending or soothing were practically nonexistent, and existed solely for those close to him (so…very few individuals), and half the time they only included wielding a sword to end their misery. He supposed he’d carried quite a few comrades off the battlefield, to be further examined by a surgeon, by a mender, by someone employed in assuaging while he returned to bludgeoning and dismembering. This moment, however, caused him to reexamine what he actions he was meant to take, and he attempted the first tactic with a gruff tone, not restorative or rehabilitative in the slightest. “You all right?” The infidel then slid off the rock, abandoning his luxere sighting position, calculating the next exploit or endeavor he was meant to take.
