who we are and all that we're trying to be
Deimos felt like he might be dangling over a dagger’s edge, some raised devil’s backbone, waiting for another thing to drop out underneath him. He nodded distinctly at the mention that Noah had already told her about the invasion, and then hung his head, eyes shifting over granules of sand and stone, uncertain where else to go from here then. The next question left the same cranium shaking. “No.” Physically, no scars scorched. Mentally was a different story and aptitude, platitude, he wasn’t pressing into now.
He only raised them again, eyes and skull and all, when she surmised he didn’t have to leave. Mostly because the measures of politics gathered, all those machinations, all those quandaries, centering, striking against him. “I have been staying in the Wilds. Not here. I only came to-,” the reason didn’t matter, not really. But just so she realized the Greatwood wouldn’t be considered as harboring fugitives, rebels, or refugees, whatever they happened to have been deemed now. “Have you seen Hotaru here?”
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
