Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
He hadn’t heard of anything else required for the visit, save for precious elements. “Water.” What most would need in the dry, hazy heat, unless they were accustomed, acclimated, and adapted to the climate. Deimos watched the transformation from disgruntled juvenile to an eager youth, tilting his head vaguely as Tal began to step and pronounce each stride with a significant, confident semblance. He nearly snorted at the actions themselves, but promised himself to behave and listen – eyes following and tracking movements, and actions, his own pace careful and precise along the snow. He sensed Belial watching him from above, but broke off pieces of jerky for the dogs as he approached just the same, offering them out as Tal endeavored to explain.
It wasn’t that Deimos hadn’t seen a sled before – he used them throughout his tenure in Halo previously, for snagging at hunts, but never with a team. He usually just used himself. “Sounds more complicated than I realized,” and he studied the runners, contemplating something; a very innocent, reticent air about the impending question. “How fast can they go?”
