"If I did you'd have no-one to blame but yourself."
Ares did not shift within the chariot's narrow space, made no adjustments to render it more inviting to his guest. This was his space, and no other's; those few granted the honor and privilege of setting foot on this mobile hallowed ground would always give way to its rightful owner. There was one luxury allowed Phobos that no other could claim, however, but now was not the time, and this meeting-ground was not the place. Still, Ares glanced to his son, lost to him for long and lonely years, and could not help but feel an almost youthful surge of joy at finally, belatedly, having him back. Grin deepening, brazen eyes flashing, he urged his horses forward with a sharp snap of the reins. They started with a jolt to unseat any untrained driver, but father and son remained firmly in place.
"Soon we'll reach the field," he said, his dark smile bleeding into his voice. "The soldiers are tiring, but not routed, and the fighting has reached a lull. We must wake them up. Bring them back to themselves."