Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deimos wasn’t surprised by the notions. It was a fathomable semblance on either side: Noah, protective and wanting to ensure Cordelia and their future children were safe, Cordelia, incredibly irritated by the hovering. There’d been days where the Sword had been the same, and so he didn’t judge – permitting the reassurance of stoicism and understanding. At the invitation though, the eagle would’ve smirked. The Sentinel would be able feel his amusement anyway, as his piercing eyes flickered briefly over the training grounds, listening to the clash of blades and shields, and then, outwards, to the surrounding world. Race you to the red roof? Following his sharpened glance would indicate the aforementioned building, well ahead and beyond their current borders. An opportunity to stretch their legs, test some skills, shifts, and incantations – for the Sword didn’t believe either would hold back for any reason.
