Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Tending to pats and scratches where they were warranted and wanted, he ended up crouching down closer to the dogs, listening as Tal’s descriptions went on. Deimos had never adjusted his runners, nor swapped them out. Just dragged it along and tended to it by sheer power. He contemplated the sled, shrugging along the considerations, figuring if his didn’t work out, he could always ask Tal what alterations needed to be made. The Sword found the description of the dogs and their capabilities far more impressive – eyes widening a fraction and giving them firmer pats and Attuned glorifications. “Quite a feat,” especially for out here, and his deep rumble meant it – life or death could come quickly along the tundra, or drifting in and out of the Fangs. "Have you ever come across frost giants? I was hoping to add some information to the guild journals."
And with a cheeky grin, juvenile complexities solidifying on his features once again, he extended an offer. “And let me know if you want to race sometime.”
