DEIMOS
Deimos likely wouldn’t be able to ever adequately express how much her presence, snark, and general ambience comforted him. That she was alive. That she wasn’t broken or beaten down. That she contained all the fire, vivacity, and vitriol he remembered, recalled, from days not spent in misery. It reminded him of better moments, not so stark and heavy, not so burdened and disastrous, not so completely undone; permitting the semblances and impressions to pervade through the attuned bond while he worked – finally somewhat at ease. He remained a diligent, composed figure, but the rigid, unyielding, unbending contortions and adornments had left him – a breath not sharpened, keened, or held in grief or anguish. “Never seen snow,” and the beast shook his head, as if he’d never believe it – but there were so many worlds beyond this, where the heat scorched and scarred, where mountains didn’t exist, and where gods didn’t persist or prevail. “It is suitable,” came on a grin; though far more boyish and juvenile. To see it all was an encompassing expression – he’d be avoiding the areas considered to be crawling with cannibals or the dragons’ caves, but they could go to the Sea of Glass, race across the tundra, and carve their way through the Citadels’ streets.
Eventually, with words and vows exchanged, all that was left to do was cut portions. He completed the actions with little fanfare, placing them amidst individual bags concocted and created from his hands, and then placed the soft hide within her designated sack as well. “You will need it for Halo,” and a smirk emerged, before he whittled away at the bones too, since they’d be useful for other adornments and valuables. Towards the notion of sojourns, he added on a tilt of his head, on a rumble of deep tones. “Send me a note when you are ready, and I can meet you at the portal.”
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
