DEIMOS
Loren’s appearance didn’t surprise him. Rising from the town below, giving chase to eagle forms, the goose glided along his intervals, and for a moment, Deimos wasn’t certain how to answer. Chasing ghosts and phantoms, wraiths from other regions, other times, other moments, wasn’t an adequate response, but it’d been what he was doing – staring out across the abyss and wondering if they would shirk the snow, the ice, the rime, and join him in the skies. The mirages didn’t. Portions of the past didn’t, and he was alone in the drifting wake of memories. Wandering was all he could deign, a truth too. Habits and routines instilled into him from a young age, wayfaring walks across vast grounds, exploring, pondering, wondering, when some things simply became too much. Moments of simply getting away from sorrows and upheavals, and then spiraling up against it anyway. He flapped his wings once, twice, ascending higher and higher, permitting Loren to follow if he chose. What have you been up to? Grand Healers, measuring their mending, assuaging powers into the worlds that always found them a necessity.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
