Damien
the urge to disappear into the forest
and become local folklore
and become local folklore
Damien’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, at the thought of Iskra’s “ice sculpting performance.” Whether joking or not, the creativity struck him as interesting, and he found himself picturing it in his mind—flames tracing frozen columns and jagged shards, the hiss of steam like applause. “I’d be interested to see something like that,” he decided, voice calm but carrying a note of genuine curiosity.
He glanced down at the sand, then back toward the distant dark water, letting a faint, humorless chuckle slip out. “Yeah, this isn’t my usual haunt. I was checking on some trap lines before Deepfrost rolls in.” His gaze swept the stretch of bay again. No footprints but their own, no sign of hare or fox just yet, though he didn’t seem disappointed. “Not much roams out here. It’s good exercise, at least.” He shrugged, the motion casual, almost indifferent—but there was a certain comfort in the routine, the simple pragmatics of it.
Damien’s eyes flicked back to Iskra, noting the way he flexed his fingers, the casual concentration that clearly spoke of a man still learning but eager to improve. “If you want,” he began, his voice steady but there was an edge to it, a little glint in his eye - of something like knowing or maybe mischief, “we could spar a little. It'd help me pass the time, and you can... test your limits more." Whether Iskra wanted to continue along the line of fire was maybe a different matter. Damien wasn't sure he could withstand that kind of onslaught, even in practice. But he let the offer hang in the air, choosing to to take it in stride.
He glanced down at the sand, then back toward the distant dark water, letting a faint, humorless chuckle slip out. “Yeah, this isn’t my usual haunt. I was checking on some trap lines before Deepfrost rolls in.” His gaze swept the stretch of bay again. No footprints but their own, no sign of hare or fox just yet, though he didn’t seem disappointed. “Not much roams out here. It’s good exercise, at least.” He shrugged, the motion casual, almost indifferent—but there was a certain comfort in the routine, the simple pragmatics of it.
Damien’s eyes flicked back to Iskra, noting the way he flexed his fingers, the casual concentration that clearly spoke of a man still learning but eager to improve. “If you want,” he began, his voice steady but there was an edge to it, a little glint in his eye - of something like knowing or maybe mischief, “we could spar a little. It'd help me pass the time, and you can... test your limits more." Whether Iskra wanted to continue along the line of fire was maybe a different matter. Damien wasn't sure he could withstand that kind of onslaught, even in practice. But he let the offer hang in the air, choosing to to take it in stride.
