unburned and alive

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame In one haphazard glance, with no motions to guide him other than staring, the void took a sudden turn. Belial flickered and buzzed around the grove, Zuriel openly snorted, and Deimos heard the voice. Quickly, swiftly, especially for a man of his size, the Sword rose to his full height, and backed away from the supposed warning. Eyes widened, rounded, perhaps in shock for not hearing the other form coming, too absorbed in curiosity or confusion, he took several more steps away. “My apologies,” rumbled in between the thicket and pathway, bewilderment ebbing and flowing for something else. Recognition, perhaps, as his eyes glanced back her way. But he didn’t give credit to it yet, remarking first upon the plant in question. “Is it dangerous?” Uncertain, brow quirking upward while his companions recovered from the onslaught of surprise. Anyting with thorns never bothered him; contorted inwardly on them himself. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace