Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
He waited, eyes upward against the outset of cold, grey sky as the obsidian peryton took off, wings unfurling in midnight hues, quiet, stealthy, when he needed to be. The vague head tilt thereafter meant Deimos was listening, just with his attention snagged in multiple directions. “That will be beneficial,” remembering slightly, of crafting and creating a charm for Amalia meant to do the same – pressing those notions down into time and history. As for his own? “Armor that protects against dark magic.”Investigating after the war meant a future forged ahead that he couldn’t be certain he’d be alive for, but another notion strung together in his skull, and for a moment his gaze rested on the patterns of snow and the vague prints of bear tracks. “Noah and I will be going to the Draig. For the war. Safrin told me,” and his jaw clenched a minute amount, before he tucked all that within. “But after. Certainly.”
The slight lack of patience on the Abandoned’s part caused a brow to arch, breaking away all the plausible possibilities of impending dread and doom. “Give him a moment.” And some distance away, the carnivorous deer had found something – after the rise of a knoll. Pointing about a minute later, Deimos signaled the location. “About 100 yards out, over the hill.” Glancing for a second at the already dead ursur, he waited for Sah’s contemplations and calculations to begin. “How do you want to proceed? I can always shift and drive it towards you.”
