DEIMOS
Oh, the Sword hadn’t forgotten; rarely did, memories bounding and flickering, promises and convictions made during mud fights and quiet discussion, lacking the vitriol or the melancholy of LongNight. The endeavors of a snicker contorted along his mouth, gaze flickering immediately to the crown laden along and across Kiada’s locks, snorting at the deep, dark roses and thorns. “It is agreeable,” a tease, a taunt, as if the flowers, petals, and nettles met his approval, high standards, and distinction, gently taking the one she proffering to him in his hands before placing it along his skull too – blue and barbed, reflections of yesteryears. “Thank you.” Pleased and content, he narrowed his eyes for a singular, calculating moment, voice dropping to a colluding whisper. “Will you help me bring the catapult in?” He’d be capable of pushing and pulling it on his own, but it would take far less time with her steering and him shoving it along, especially if they hit any softer spots along the loam. Then, as his eyes spotted Amalia nearby, they could always deliver their manifested crowns in a far more amusing way.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
