DEIMOS
The first statement, absolute denial, had him barking a round of laughter. As it echoed and bounded against their wooden houses and shelters, reverberating in its devilish notions, he gave another snort too. “Yes, you most certainly did.” If it sounded like some ignited, initiated sibling squabbles, the Sword wouldn't contradict it. Deimos made sure to turn his head fully in her direction, so she’d be able to see the impression he was going to enact. “This was you, watching him leave to get snow moss.” As if the man was going off to war – and while they would be eventually, it certainly wasn’t now – and the Sword made a juvenile pretense of sad, longing eyes gazing off in the distance.Before rounding his piercing gaze back onto her, full of mischief and impishness, at her second admission. Brows raised for a half a moment, he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, and didn’t stifle the chuckles then either. It’d been a long time since he’d been this amused. “Knew it.” Smug for a moment, he only twisted his eyes down to the ground to see if the roots had taken hold of the few vegetables already stirring from the loam. When he seemed satisfied with their arrangement and growth, he shrugged his shoulders, stepping back from his crouch and returning to his full height. “All right. We can go find some flowers.” It might be easier then concocting them from his mind, from the creations stirred and stored there long ago.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
