DEIMOS
Winter was favored by the Sword in these little hazes – calm and serene in its cold, chilling composure, seemingly benign until its true power awakened. It reminded him sometimes of the Basin – but without the vibrant colors segmented across the skies. There was no use looking for them now, out of habit in each of these seasons, dragging his attention back to the play at hand.He justified the direction with a firm nod – the only one in their party capable of shifting into something with wings (save for Belial – who could likely do the same, but he’d leave him here instead of reeling into rambunctious mischief). An eagle wasn’t uncommon. Wouldn’t be something to scare or startle the deer.
In one swift movement, he soared; sienna and majestic against the backdrop of Deepfrost’s early dawn – fast, sure, certain, and determined. Sharp eyes glimpsed over the horizon, then towards Noah’s directions, striving to find the intended game.
--
Deimos goes to scout!
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
