Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Little by little he’d given his trust over to others; but only so far, and with good reason. The damage long since done, scar tissue flickering over a plethora of ivory lines over muscle, flesh, bone, and soul, could only unfurl bit by bit at a time. A predacious wariness, the calculations of a predator locked and wounded, scaling corners and shadows until it felt safe to wander back out into light.Like here and now, no darkness battering.
He rumbled a groan through his chest at her notions, beyond nose wrinkling and now ensuing pretenses of trepidation, leaning back against the counter as if the dread were already sinking in through his bones. “Do not say that. They will find a way.” The General had no doubts that several coming to mind would blow up some portion of the marketplace or lure a dragon in.
Piercing gaze caught the teasing hues in her cheeks and laughed again, biting down on the remains of the cookies with an audible crunch, amused by the antics of hiding things from Sam. “Of course not.” As for the origins of his hankerings for sweets, he snorted, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe. She caught on quickly though.” A hint that those angles of shenanigans had ceased and desisted; Stone had always been sharp and astute. Didn’t mean he hadn’t tried other things, however.
His head tilted while she described her painting, listening all the while; a play with colors, shapes, designs, images in mind but the distortion and tools capable of being altered. His brow furrowed slightly when it was considered a waste, wondering how and why, but then not thereafter – the Hollowed Grounds would’ve been hard pressed for such materials. Before Bastien anyway, and for as dramatic as the man had been, he’d done multitudes of good for not only Rexanna, but offering hues and vibrancy. On a whim, an offer clung to Deimos’ mouth and slid over his tongue without thinking, and then stifled, uncertain. “Probably could be easily made.”
