Before she answers Deimos, the goddess' eyes turn to Amalia. For a silent beat she studies the girl, galactic stare weighty and all-knowing. "No, it isn't going to bring them back. But then, that was never the point of it."
She straightens slightly, not wanting to have Deimos' moment hijacked but knowing equally that the bond between Amalia and the Sword was not so easily put aside for the sake of conversation. "Do you cease to water a field of crops because some die? Because your favourite flowers are torn up?" Safrin asks. "Will you throw away the work Deimos has done, what I have asked him to do, because your grief is so narrow-minded?"
She straightens slightly, not wanting to have Deimos' moment hijacked but knowing equally that the bond between Amalia and the Sword was not so easily put aside for the sake of conversation. "Do you cease to water a field of crops because some die? Because your favourite flowers are torn up?" Safrin asks. "Will you throw away the work Deimos has done, what I have asked him to do, because your grief is so narrow-minded?"
