DEIMOS
With the notion of bone needles settled for another time in the future, they could maneuver the sled downhill. It coasted along by strength and accord, slipping over notches and nodules of ice, and eventually they reached the bottom without losing any of their cargo. Zuriel marched dutifully, elegantly with all her graceful poise, and Belial took to rolling in a vicious descent, bleating happily along the way (perhaps trying to coax the cub into playing with him; though the peryton was quite full of rampant mischief, where the pup appeared tired from the trek). From there, they could continue, and the Sword pulled the vessel along the flattened terrain once more, as they moved towards the beds of ice, the careening, chilling waters beside sure, certain steps and strides. He hadn’t anticipated Sah’s sigh, quirking a brow upward over a residual stoicism, tilting his head to indicate he was listening. That Frey hadn’t shown wasn’t necessarily surprising – it had taken Deimos many times over to get any sort of response other than cackling or silence. Conversations with a sentient candle were new though. “Did the candle have anything worthwhile to say?” His tones were serious, but the crook of his smile wasn’t; intrigued but amused. It could’ve been far worse.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
