Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deimos couldn’t speak over lack of concentration or control; the flames, water, air, earth, and many others came to him as naturally as breathing. They conformed and ignited, they contorted and coiled, they unleashed when they were asked and nothing more. So to watch Sah was a lesson in his own instruction methods, incapable of seeing the inward nuances and the shifting tides, but certainly examining and scrutinizing the changes, the alterations, in the torchlight, in the Thunder’s features.And slowly, surely, they maneuvered under his power, until they simply didn’t any longer. Rather than cater to the feeling of disappointment, the Sword tilted his head, returning the fires back to their former stances. “But look what you accomplished. No water.” His jaw jutted towards where the liquid lingered, unmoved since the last time. “Do you want to try concentrating on that separately as well?” Because if he practiced it now, he could do it on his own too – half of the battle seemed to be his focus alone.
