DAMIEN
I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak
I'm angry and I know that's weak
Damien had noticed the shift before the creatures came into view; the soft hush in the trees, the way the wind curved different through the pines. And then one stepped through the snowlight, pale and surefooted, its antlers a shimmer against the ridge. His posture didn’t change, but his gaze followed it with a flicker of something quieter than surprise. They weren’t rare, but they didn’t always come this close to noise and company either. A sign, to be sure, perhaps of hope or luck. Or maybe just an echo of a different time, to others.
Deimos lifted a hand and conjured the apple. No spell words. No flourish. Just a quiet offering flung with an archer’s ease. Damien stilled, watching the fruit land with a muffled thud and roll slightly toward the animal. The luxere's ears twitched. It stepped forward.
Not a hunt, then.
His gaze returned to Deimos—not sharp, but thoughtful. The man’s face, usually cut from stone, had softened, just for a second. Something unguarded had risen to the surface, and Damien marked it. Not with judgment. Just... interest.
“Don't let the hunters know you let a beast like that walk, or they'll never let you live it down.” It wasn’t a rebuke. If anything, there was a note of dry amusement beneath the words. Damien’s own shoulders shifted as he turned back toward the sled, the hiss of snow underfoot filling the silence for a beat. He paused, loading another log onto the sled with a practiced motion. Then, as if offhand—too casual to be direct—
“Hollowed Grounds, huh.” The name wasn’t unfamiliar, but it came out slow, as if trying the shape of it. He studied Deimos, who was battle-scarred, unyielding, yet here choosing kindness over conquest.. and something like admiration settled in Damien’s chest. “You don’t sound like you’re from there. But I guess you wouldn't. Outlander, right? So what keeps you here, in Halo? Most who come through don’t stay long.” His tone was direct but measured, curious enough to invite an honest answer, not pry.
Deimos lifted a hand and conjured the apple. No spell words. No flourish. Just a quiet offering flung with an archer’s ease. Damien stilled, watching the fruit land with a muffled thud and roll slightly toward the animal. The luxere's ears twitched. It stepped forward.
Not a hunt, then.
His gaze returned to Deimos—not sharp, but thoughtful. The man’s face, usually cut from stone, had softened, just for a second. Something unguarded had risen to the surface, and Damien marked it. Not with judgment. Just... interest.
“Don't let the hunters know you let a beast like that walk, or they'll never let you live it down.” It wasn’t a rebuke. If anything, there was a note of dry amusement beneath the words. Damien’s own shoulders shifted as he turned back toward the sled, the hiss of snow underfoot filling the silence for a beat. He paused, loading another log onto the sled with a practiced motion. Then, as if offhand—too casual to be direct—
“Hollowed Grounds, huh.” The name wasn’t unfamiliar, but it came out slow, as if trying the shape of it. He studied Deimos, who was battle-scarred, unyielding, yet here choosing kindness over conquest.. and something like admiration settled in Damien’s chest. “You don’t sound like you’re from there. But I guess you wouldn't. Outlander, right? So what keeps you here, in Halo? Most who come through don’t stay long.” His tone was direct but measured, curious enough to invite an honest answer, not pry.
And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek
For whatever it is I seek
