Damien
the urge to disappear into the forest
and become local folklore
and become local folklore
The wind off the bay cut sharper than usual, dragging damp salt and the bite of ice into Damien’s coat. He kept his eyes low, watching the dark sand for the telltale signs of a sprung snare. The traps he set along the shoreline weren’t for anything big—mostly arctic fox or the odd hare that ventured too close—but they helped fill the lean spaces between hunts.
It was the flicker of orange against the muted horizon that made him slow. Fire didn’t belong here, not unless something had gone wrong, and the smell of singed brine confirmed it wasn’t some trick of the light. He followed it along the drier ridge of sand until a man came into view, the heat snapping off his hands toward a half-melted hulk of ice.
Damien stopped a short distance off, weighing the scene. The dog at the man’s side caught his attention first. A big, healthy-looking dog, nose to the ground in a way that spoke of mischief brewing. He recognized the man, though not supremely well; enough to put a name to the face and understand some of the meaning behind it.
“Not what I expected to find on this stretch,” he said finally, voice low enough to be carried off by the wind if the other wasn’t listening. His eyes cut toward the ice deposit steaming under the flames, then back to the dog. “Iskra, right? You just practicing?”
It was the flicker of orange against the muted horizon that made him slow. Fire didn’t belong here, not unless something had gone wrong, and the smell of singed brine confirmed it wasn’t some trick of the light. He followed it along the drier ridge of sand until a man came into view, the heat snapping off his hands toward a half-melted hulk of ice.
Damien stopped a short distance off, weighing the scene. The dog at the man’s side caught his attention first. A big, healthy-looking dog, nose to the ground in a way that spoke of mischief brewing. He recognized the man, though not supremely well; enough to put a name to the face and understand some of the meaning behind it.
“Not what I expected to find on this stretch,” he said finally, voice low enough to be carried off by the wind if the other wasn’t listening. His eyes cut toward the ice deposit steaming under the flames, then back to the dog. “Iskra, right? You just practicing?”
