Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
A notation of understanding flickered in his piercing gaze, the head tilt lending into his comfort about the subject matter. He’d been stalwart, nefarious, and anything in between when he’d guarded the Basin – perhaps more towards the mountains than the people. But that had altered and changed with time, though the comprehension lingered, shifting mildly into his small smile as Chaele described the lands being carved. Exploited. An inquiry flared in his mind, but he bit it back for the moment, taking hold of his mug again and watching the shaman over the rim. “A noble act,” he offered instead, considering, contemplating, the machinations already framing other words and whispers he’d heard. “How do you feel about the neutral portions coming to stay amongst the Wilds then?” Uncertain if they were amongst the fold of wanting no one to settle there – the lands entirely, openly free.Another sip of the warm concoction, before the question hovered behind his teeth, and then rallied over his tongue. “And how will you protect all of them?” From the lava pits of the Climb, the dangerous aspects of the Draig, the Oerwoud’s precious resources in their humid flare, the King’s End fields, burrowed and borrowed in their mourning abyss, to the winding deserts of Hak Etme? Maybe this had been a life lesson echoing from his own fringes and reaches – experiences and memories, incapable of reaching, reaching, reaching for every single wounded patriot, but striving just the same.
At the last comment, he offered a light chuckle. “They do have a way of remaining,” in many aspects – the escape from the deities and their intricacies a difficult, careful balance. “Perhaps they wait, and then recreate.”
