DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
In all fairness, considering the traumatic events a multitude of them had gone through, not many would be adequate for providing any semblance of “therapy”. Certainly not Deimos, who repressed his own tribulations, sorrows, and upheavals in very stoic wounds. Until the scars were opened and the lacerations pierced all over again – and he wasn’t going to pass that advice along. “We all had learning curves,” he offered instead, adjusting to a world where some still carried their broad spectrum of understandings, notions, and semblances from homes they could no longer reach. “Yours just came in a different way,” and he shrugged, eyes drawn back to the lava wyrms, and then returning to the parchment, adjusting a few strokes of the charcoal in his sketch. As Lilly reeped, so too did several of the wyrms. While the puddles didn’t seem to be moving quickly, a very slow draw along walls and ceilings, there were a few more movements. A rise of the lava, a pulse of crimson flickering and bounding. Was it an invitation to play? Or some other haphazard notion? “The cloud wyrms always seemed mischievous. Do you think their counterparts would be the same?” Mostly because he was of similar caliber, and it would be worthy of note.
Unite and spread the heart apart
