[seasonal event] arise from the dust

Deimos It wasn’t any sort of malicious laughter bounding and leaping from his chest, but it was incredibly amused, the kind that might have roared into full-blown torrents and fits if he wasn’t trying to keep somewhat quiet. The notions of it had gone out of the window long before, but her amusement, and his, were such small, meager crumbs against every other damned onslaught; so he really, truly, didn’t care. Lost amongst the ridiculous antics, the mischief, the devilry, his latest volley pinned along her feathers and chest, and any other idiotic moron lobbing mud balls at those considered friends and family might’ve cheered or whooped. Instead the attuned bond crackled and seared with an obvious smug outlook. Which died and faded soon after her tactics and plans altered – he had half a second to witness her shift into her own human form, flesh and blood instead of plumes and talons, before reality sunk in. She intended to plummet into him, descend, smash, and crash. He could’ve been very rude and merely stepped aside, witness her fall, tumble into the garden or mud, become gravely injured, wounded, or hurt due to their rampant stupidity. But ever the Sword, he shook his head, anticipating the pending doom, and raised his arms to catch. His legs settled into the earth, grounding machinations long since honed in war efforts and tides, as she dove, as she sailed through the air, as he sighed, bracing for impact; snagging before she could ricochet and bound off the earth, sending him down, suddenly sitting in the mud, soil, and loam on a puff of laughter and sharp exhalation. No harm, no foul, really, a soft landing, and she was somewhere draped over his shoulder. Then he dropped her on a hapless shrug. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime