Deimos
suns for bones and constellations for eyes
Winter pressed and it was a home within a home; the frigid air conforming around furs and pelts and cheeks, granting the wild locks of his hair another sweep and turn. It gave Deimos an ease that shouldn’t have existed – but such had always been his way, to settle in amidst scores of adversity, revolution, and bedlam; comfortable in the contortions of chaos. Repose held a certain sway to his shoulders too, so they weren’t so damned heavy, even when laden with responsibilities, when there were other promises and convictions on the horizon. It helped to have the Evergreen at his side, in ways he’d yet to find to describe, paramount and preeminent. The piercing slate of his gaze settled on her from over his shoulder, jaw gesturing to the next street in a single nod of his head, as they dragged the sled down ramparts and avenues. It made a jostling sound, but didn’t echo, sliding easily across pockets of snow and stone, carrying the bundles of wood for their citizens.
On a mercurial tease and with only boyish intentions of where he poked and prodded, he pulled out a granola bar from his pocket, opening the wrapper with a subtle grin as it crinkled. “Want some?”
