Hotaru doesn't know much about the gods or traditions of this land. Part of her didn't care to learn, especially with how her life had crumbled so fully at the hands of Gods and their imitations. What she does know, what she cares about, is that LongNight is a time of trepidation and battle in equal measure. The Valkyrie trusts Deimos' word, his urgency, and she falls into step beside him as they journey to confront this looming threat to their family. It is familiar. Comforting in some archaic, carnivorous manner. A threat has been placed before her, and so she shall endeavour to destroy it. Simple.
So when Deimos gathers gear, mountainous frame bowing beneath tools and expectations alike, the maiden arrives in her solitary sense. No longer is she heralded by wolfsong or the roll of thunder, but she keeps faith the he knows her by the way she glides over snow, the strike of her hair or her vixen gaze.
Hotaru follows his directions at a sedate pace, testing her knowledge of the area and vaguely recalling something about a notice to the settlement at large. She is wearing flexible breeches and a thick coat over long sleeves, preparing for a day of labor. The cold does not bother her, even in this fleshy, pathetic form. She is a snowchild after all, just as the Sword is. When Hotaru comes upon them she is in time to see Deimos unburden himself, tools arranged upon the ground, and a single word crumbling terse and tense from his stoic visage.
Oh?
Hotaru slides up beside him, one hand lifting companionably to brush against her brother's shoulder, squeezing gently before trailing away. Though she'd like to linger at his side, there is blood in the water from his tone alone, and she is deathly curious. There is information to be gained here, and it is the type of currency she deals in. Her smile is warm as she approaches Jigano, offering a hand in hopes of shaking. "Pleasure, my name is Hotaru. I assume you're Jigano?" Just enough to break the ice, to settle herself between the two, though Deimos remains solidly at her back. Protected and protector in turn, watching her blind spot while she draws the attention of this curious individual who caused his tone to be so flat.
So when Deimos gathers gear, mountainous frame bowing beneath tools and expectations alike, the maiden arrives in her solitary sense. No longer is she heralded by wolfsong or the roll of thunder, but she keeps faith the he knows her by the way she glides over snow, the strike of her hair or her vixen gaze.
Hotaru follows his directions at a sedate pace, testing her knowledge of the area and vaguely recalling something about a notice to the settlement at large. She is wearing flexible breeches and a thick coat over long sleeves, preparing for a day of labor. The cold does not bother her, even in this fleshy, pathetic form. She is a snowchild after all, just as the Sword is. When Hotaru comes upon them she is in time to see Deimos unburden himself, tools arranged upon the ground, and a single word crumbling terse and tense from his stoic visage.
Oh?
Hotaru slides up beside him, one hand lifting companionably to brush against her brother's shoulder, squeezing gently before trailing away. Though she'd like to linger at his side, there is blood in the water from his tone alone, and she is deathly curious. There is information to be gained here, and it is the type of currency she deals in. Her smile is warm as she approaches Jigano, offering a hand in hopes of shaking. "Pleasure, my name is Hotaru. I assume you're Jigano?" Just enough to break the ice, to settle herself between the two, though Deimos remains solidly at her back. Protected and protector in turn, watching her blind spot while she draws the attention of this curious individual who caused his tone to be so flat.
