they found your bones

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Deimos couldn’t mend things. Had never been a healer. Had never been much for soothing, assuaging properties. Tried to fix and cobble together moments in his life, but it was usually with violence, vehemence, or some other attribute that had little place in the world of remedial results. Especially now, with everything but the weight of leaves and ferns crashing down around them. He watched as Zuriel mended, sighing once more, as she alleviated aches and pains, cuts and bruises, welts and lacerations, stitching seams, weaving wounds off and away. Yet to leave his crouch, he merely leaned against a nearby stump, contemplating efforts, the next round of steps, sliding portions of his furs up and off his forearms, away from the constant chill. His eyes went briefly to the raven, recognizing, nodding, before granting a voice back to the hunter. I do not know yet. I presumed if she escaped, she would come here. Hence why he’d done the same; intending to track the Valkyrie, to assemble them back together – And then what? He didn’t have a clue. Any and all machinations from before had disassembled in the need to protect, and then survive. Inform the leaders of the Greatwood of what had transpired? Find shelter in the Wilds? Naught formed well, not on the outer ridges of chaos and bedlam. Not when his mind still reeled from hours and moments before. I can send Belial. His stare rounded to the little peryton, and though the youth was obliging, he nodded at the figment of warnings instilled between bonded – before he sauntered off, wings above the canopies. A myriad of inquiries settled behind his teeth, and none of them seemed quite right. How did you escape? came anyway, drawing his bag over, searching through it to see if he had a canteen for Noah. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace