DEIMOS
Belial had heard Cordelia long before she made an appearance from the labyrinth’s jaws, and since they’d been working on signaling without screeching or raising further alarm, the peryton had channeled his findings with the same zeal and fervor. The information had passed silently from peryton to Sword, and some range of curiosity of his own began to take fold as he scattered a few more marks down upon the paper. Surveying it once or twice for good measure, he only ceased when he could hear her panting, wavering approach; glancing upwards with a faint bout of amusement scattered along his features. Very much like he was trying not to laugh.
“Sketching,” by way of answering her inquiry, as if it was perfectly normal to fly out into the middle of a warren, beside a magically tended fire, in the middle of the day. Unbothered by her haste, he held his paper aloft, to show the illustrated quiver he’d been working on, with little details scrawled along the bottom. A vague tilt of his head, and the arch and inclination of his brow, indicated his inquiry was soon to follow. “Did you need something?” As was most often the case when others sought him out.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
