Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
“True,” for all of Isilme’s faults, the monsters had always been the humans, rather than the other ones lurking in between tides or curls of fog. The loss of his dough was not a heartfelt defeat, punctuated by a snort and then snagging at more, though in smaller portions, intending to savor the cookies too. Her words pressed in between, and his shoulders shifted in a moment of restlessness, before leaning back against the counter again. “You are safe here,” and he nodded, as if to cement the fact and notion – here being within the confines of Halo, or amid his own monolithic presence. Simple and forthright, sincere all the same.
The word being an echo earned a sharp arch to his brow immediately thereafter – wondering if she meant the kitchen in a literal sense, or the world cultivated at the edge of mountains – a culture and haven all its own, bridged away from so many other forms and follies. He presumed the latter rather than the former, invoking a rumble behind his teeth that held no particular meaning, save for amusement.
To hear of her adventures in King’s End, alone, instigated the barest narrowing of his gaze, maybe to picture the shallow, swooping end of the fertile lands, where the river bent and bordered, before dissipating into the desert. A comment or two lingered along his tongue, uncertain if they were going to invoke some sadness and desolation, he opted to smile at the notions instead, trying to reel back into where his favorites were. “The Sea of Glass – it reminds me of a lake we once had – it never froze. And you can run for miles,” a sense of freedom and liberation when everything else felt like it was unraveling. “Frey’s Breath is a nice, natural hot spring, though I have never stayed in it for long.” Too busy gathering or rallying or hunting or trying to survive. “There is a part of the Whispershore where you can dive for a ways, and still only encounter gold fish.” Peaceful, tranquil, rarities in a life like his. “All right, least favorite place.”
