Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Long limbs pressed through the snow, though the crunch beneath his feet was inevitably drowned out by the wake of the crowd billowing around. He maneuvered more than once around milling gatherings, towering above constituents and citizens, then sliding by, his sights not set on particular notches or stalls. Perusing, as it were, occasionally with his chin raised, perhaps as if he were chasing an aroma down on the wind. Doglike; senses attuned and accustomed, catching another whiff, another whim, on an evening of distractions – Eventually, making his way by the carousel and the sleighs, towards the hot cocoa stand. Maybe he’d traverse there first, then double-back around, intending to motion through the other kiosks (for food – he had half a notion there were funnel cakes somewhere nearby) and merchandise, intending to forge something similar for his fellow Halovians upon his return.
But there was inevitably a line, and he stood patiently along its throngs, listening, tilting his head, taking anything and everything in.
