Damien
and every demon wants his pound of flesh
but i like to keep some things to myself
but i like to keep some things to myself
Damien’s eyes drifted to the cluster of trees Theea had pointed out, lingering on the jagged gouges clawed deep into the bark. Fresh. The beast had to be close, he thought—and oh, was it close...
Somewhere on the rocky slopes above, the snow leopard was watching, waiting for the hunters to step into her domain. For now, the two of them remained unaware of the cunning that stalked them, and the cunning bid its time.
He met Theea’s steady gaze and gave a slow, approving nod. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good eye. We should get a closer look.” To see just how fresh those marks were. To find if they led anywhere.
Adjusting the leather strap, Damien reached for his crossbow, drawing it out with the quiet precision of a man who’s done this dance too many times to count. “From here on, we move slow. Watch every shadow. Follow those scars on the trees. Anything feels off — stop and listen. Predators are dangerous enough when they’re not maneaters.”
His gaze flicked back to Theea once more, a silent question there before he turned toward the claw marks. Shoulders squared against the biting wind, he stepped forward. Snow crunched steady beneath his boots. This was no longer a trail. It was the threshold into the Fangs.
With deliberate steps and senses keyed sharp, he led the way into the broken mountainsides.
At the cluster of trees, Damien pushed his crossbow back over his shoulder and knelt, running calloused fingers over the bark. Splinters dusted his skin. “It’s here, alright...”
He looked down over the ridge they’d crested. Below, a small valley of shattered rock lay nestled between jagged cliffs. A patch of disturbed snow caught his eye, faint but telling. Tracks leading deeper in.
He signaled Theea and notched a bolt to his crossbow, nodding toward the tracks. His breath whispered white in the cold air. Quiet now, deliberate, he pressed on. The hunt had truly begun.
Somewhere on the rocky slopes above, the snow leopard was watching, waiting for the hunters to step into her domain. For now, the two of them remained unaware of the cunning that stalked them, and the cunning bid its time.
He met Theea’s steady gaze and gave a slow, approving nod. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good eye. We should get a closer look.” To see just how fresh those marks were. To find if they led anywhere.
Adjusting the leather strap, Damien reached for his crossbow, drawing it out with the quiet precision of a man who’s done this dance too many times to count. “From here on, we move slow. Watch every shadow. Follow those scars on the trees. Anything feels off — stop and listen. Predators are dangerous enough when they’re not maneaters.”
His gaze flicked back to Theea once more, a silent question there before he turned toward the claw marks. Shoulders squared against the biting wind, he stepped forward. Snow crunched steady beneath his boots. This was no longer a trail. It was the threshold into the Fangs.
With deliberate steps and senses keyed sharp, he led the way into the broken mountainsides.
At the cluster of trees, Damien pushed his crossbow back over his shoulder and knelt, running calloused fingers over the bark. Splinters dusted his skin. “It’s here, alright...”
He looked down over the ridge they’d crested. Below, a small valley of shattered rock lay nestled between jagged cliffs. A patch of disturbed snow caught his eye, faint but telling. Tracks leading deeper in.
He signaled Theea and notched a bolt to his crossbow, nodding toward the tracks. His breath whispered white in the cold air. Quiet now, deliberate, he pressed on. The hunt had truly begun.
