we know the horizon

DEIMOS

what tried to destroy you
didn't have the strength

Before houses in the Mistbanks and festivals full of lanterns, there were brief sojourns away from mountains and summits. The humidity of the Oerwoud remained as it’d been the last time he’d been here – so his sleeves were rolled up, hair tied back, furs carefully put away in his bag of holding, and a rough snort muffled through his lungs at the temperature difference. “Have you been here before?” He glanced over his shoulder towards the courier, figuring there’d been some meandering through thickets and groves and ferns for some manner of delivery.

Blazing his own path until they stumbled upon a trail towards the shrine, the Sword paused every now and then to snag at one of the many fruits hanging; placing them within his satchel too, figuring he could snag at ample opportunity, and still not be from Halo for long. From here, they could snag future offerings for Nature Frey at their upcoming request, and then place some along this pedestal too.

By way of conversation, his tones took on a casual and dry demeanor, though he predicted it’d rankle more than one nerve. “Neron came to the Citadel the other day.”

still you stand
sturdy and smelling of smoke

Tal, lacking a bag of holding, had hidden his pack of winter clothes and furs in a small, high cave of the mountain pass; one of several he used when he traveled out of Halo for deliveries. Deimos's magical bag had received an awed and longing stare as item after item was stuffed within and it never grew heavier.

Even so, he had to shake his head at Deimos's question when it came as he slogged along in the General's wake. He wore linen and had a sweatband wrapped around his brow, but even so the sweat poured off him at the unaccustomed heat and humidity of the jungle. "Mostly people have wanted things to go to Torchline. So usually I can get away with skirting the Climb and heading south towards the coast," he explained, swatting a large, bumbling beetle with a shiny blue carapace away from his face with a wrinkled nose. "An' even then, I only really started takin' packages outside of Halo this past year."

He grabbed at a fruit that looked like one that Deimos had just tucked away and bit into it experimentally. Pale eyes widened in delight at the sweet, tangy explosion of flavor--

And he almost spit out the mouthful as the General's words turned the food sour in his mouth. He hurriedly chewed and swallowed, a low growl underlying his voice. "So much for hopin' he fuckin' died with Morgan," he swore and spat. "What did the bastard want this time?"