unburned and alive

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Perhaps he should’ve attended D’art’s lectures and demonstrations – given the sudden amount of information bombarding his way. With the lightest of grins, he coincided by creating several parchments of paper and charcoal into his hands, already taking notes. His eyes went towards her sketchbook, nodding slowly while he copied over the details of the flower; certain he’d likely seen the plant before. Seed pods. Buds. Sap within the proportions itself. He took hold of the ingredients, copying those down as well, feeling like he was back in his mother’s scholarly routines (and only occasionally staring out the window to watch training fights and skirmishes). The Sword paid attention thoroughly, pondering over the proportions of tea, water, and lemon zest – seemingly to mask everything else. Soothing, placating. His eyes only briefly widened at her warning; there was no intention of killing in these ramparts and conditions. “Understandable.” The beast took another sheet of paper, calculating and weighing out ages, measurements, and held it out for Ray to take. Questions meandered through though, already puzzling proportions, details, out in his skull. “And they will have no other side effects?” Other than the grogginess? “How often can it be given?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace