Deimos
A tight smile drew its way over his mouth, revealing nothing. Darkeye could ask, and Deimos saw no reason to yield. Pretending not to hear the inquiry at all, the Sword rose from his chosen seat, angling for his companions and bag of collected meat, furs, for the residents of Halo. “You are welcome.” And with a singular shake of his head, with no intentions to delay the priest any further, he motioned back towards where he’d begun, in and out of the obsidian land and lore. “Good luck to you.” With curses and LongNights, with winter’s harshness, with plans that could come to fruition based on ambition and determination.
{FIN}
{FIN}
you're all bronze and bite
all venom and fistfight
all venom and fistfight
