Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
A telltale snicker snagged on the ends of his mouth at her flushed cheeks and then downward gaze, notions and promises of soon and later; listening all the while so he didn’t become distracted by their lack of subtly, though he may have winked at the tease comment. Finishing off the berries, he brushed his hands together, before maneuvering back into the bag, and retrieving their next course; burgers, one already fixed to her liking, and the other to his, passing it over to her – Though nearly forgoing the action altogether, when she responded. A snort hastened through, muffled for the benefit of the kits, but the wrinkled nose and suddenly seditious air, head raised high to counteract the claim, said everything before it rumbled across his tongue. “I am not,” as if this was a most grievous offense. He had a thousand arguments to contradict and counter her statement, but opted to shake his head, before finally extending the burger to her.
The Sword left the parameters of her parents out of his thoughts; he’d never heard good things. Speculations ran far more rampant to potential adventuring into the wilderness, rather than always being tied to the tundra. Breaks here and there were a necessity, instead of the potential of running themselves into the ground. Taking a bite, Deimos snorted again at the mention of the asinine equines within the wilds, swallowing the meat down before answering. “I had to save someone recently from them. Do not be lured,” and he arched a brow, presuming she’d be just the sort to accept their invitations too. “I heard there were more pieces to explore in the sea too.”
