DEIMOS
Another bird rose along, and for a few moments it didn’t bother him. Keen eyes, a massive wake, a barrage of power and precision, all made up his outer vestiges – and he presumed the fellow predator would not bother with him. Most didn’t; accustomed to some range of his demolishing abilities and tactics, but the more he inclined further, the more he realized there wasn’t any unrelenting motion, and he brushed upwards, quickly, swiftly, as the other raptor neared. A surprise too, when a voice resounded. There was no cause for alarm in his attuned semblances, just the slightest inclination of surprise rambling through his blood, surging in the connection, before he smothered it downward. He rose and rose, before turning back, as if surveying, scrutinizing, examining the proverbial unknown – in the being and the land. It is fine he rumbled in response; no harm, no damage done, just a strange altercation when they’d both had nearly the entirely sky.
His eyes went briefly to his companions below, and he could feel Belial’s inquisition (wondering perhaps, if he should be joining in the wake above, and harassing the other bird), and Zuriel’s quiet indifference, presuming naught had happened that required her distress. So thereafter, all he had was the moment to process more thorough introductions, rather than a near collision. Deimos. And he hovered, head tilting vaguely, all predilection, perception, and primitive intimidation. Who are you? reflecting, reverberating, resounding like an echo.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
