[seasonal event] arise from the dust

Deimos It turns out to be innocent follies, if there was ever anything truly innocent about Kiada, juvenile tactics that nearly ensued, invoked, and provoked another eye roll. He settled for a rumble of a snort instead, gaze cast upon the earth, then lifting back to the sky, to the point of treetops and canopies in the distance, the peaceful platitudes of gardens and bakeries, before the coming of whatever inevitable thing scorched and bludgeoned next. Her next statement was utterly ridiculous, the pot calling the kettle black, the arch to his brow saying as much. “If I have to wear one, then you should too.” The beast had managed to acquire several rows of blossoms and petals last year, though most had been out of mischief, and then stealing them from other individuals, games sprung upon the populace. If she did actually manage to headbutt him, he’d likely deliver some other punishment and vengeance; and the youth would know it too – neither the Sword, nor the Reaper, capable of permitting actions without repercussions and consequences. “We will see.” Perhaps she would be rendered much worse in the thick of devilry and antics. Perhaps it wouldn’t really matter, and just the chance, the opportunity, for peace, repose, and sanctuaries again would be enough for all of them. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime