Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Finished pouring the water, he handed over the mug, mostly so she didn’t destroy the towel, and opted to lean against the other end of the counter, feeling the great burden of a sigh building in his chest. He wasn’t certain about the layer of his expectations, but given the shaking of his head and the muffling of a snort behind his own drink, it hadn’t been that. Landsharks had seemingly become quite an obtrusive beast as of late, suddenly grateful they’d only seen the singular massive one (and its cohorts), rather than the draconic entity.
The more news delivered though, the more he couldn’t quite contain the volley of laughter beginning to fill the void left by the useless apprehension, not even remotely surprised by the notions of Darkeye. “I am glad you are safe,” then he paused, clearly trying to stifle the chuckles threatening to unfurl from his lungs. “I do know Darkeye quite well, and none of that shocks me.” But it would be something to ask the man if he happened upon him again, if only to rankle and tease.
The final statement though drew the mischievous, juvenile grin back out though, another smothered snort volleying through. “I had no idea you were a professional landshark rider.”
