You don't have to shout or leap about

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The statement caused a faint chuckle, and for his gaze to sweep upward, over the tall buildings and the vivid horizons, so his mind wasn’t tempted to ramble elsewhere. Stormbreak was nothing like the Hollowed Grounds, and while it probably had its own distinct, haunting features, here he couldn’t be caught or snagged on all those nuances and wounds. Maybe within a matter of time, it would’ve all sunk – Naturals tired of being behind a barrier, one of the few things they’d known or understood for hundreds of years, the Voice held in check for seemingly eternities. Loyalty would have strayed in one way or another, just as it had in the war. The inevitably curled down his spine, and he gave it no more than a nod, glance returning to the streets of stone. The notions of the little, purple plants caused his eyes to narrow, immediately thumbling through the journal in his hand, striving to see if that had already been copied down or required a fresh page. “Maybe they require something else to fend them off,” he murmured, jotting them along another segment of parchment, the charcoal steady in his hand. He had heard briefly of the raven-esque beasts from others, but not much else. “Were there any effects with the Mata Mata?” Mentions of Safrin gave the slightest of smiles over, while his attention was on the paper and notations. “Might be a good start. Do you see her often?” He likely should pay her a visit soon as well, but he’d been opting to give time, and space to heal in all the aftermath of horrendous events. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace