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’s hands rubbed together once, more for something to do than to warm them. Her mention of a quest made his brow tighten briefly, though he didn’t press for details. Quests from the gods weren’t given lightly—or so he’d always been told—and it wasn’t his place to pry. Still, the way she said it, matter-of-fact and calm, struck him as someone accustomed to carrying strange burdens.
His gaze dropped briefly to the little ursur at her feet, then back to her. “And Frey. That’s…” He exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth pulling wry. “That’s more than I’ve managed in all my years.” It wasn’t bitter, but there was a note of wonder threaded through. Encounters with gods weren’t exactly handed out.
Her next words brought his head up a little, the mention of Mort anchoring his attention more firmly on her. Returned Sascha to her side—that kind of mercy was no small thing. He studied the bear for a long beat, quiet but intent. The truth of it was hard to deny when the proof lay curled at her boots.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower now, meant for her more than for the others scattered about the room. “What was it like? Meeting them. Frey, especially.” His head tilted, eyes narrowing faintly with curiosity. “I’d like to know what it was really like to stand before them. What you saw in them.”
Though his words were plain, his emotions were layered in a way he didn’t fully admit to himself: a guarded longing, the kind that came from wanting to believe but fearing what belief might cost. There was no envy in it, not really, but a weight of restless hunger, the awareness of his own distance from something greater. He held her gaze, steady and unblinking, as though willing her answer to reveal something more than just the tale.
His gaze dropped briefly to the little ursur at her feet, then back to her. “And Frey. That’s…” He exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth pulling wry. “That’s more than I’ve managed in all my years.” It wasn’t bitter, but there was a note of wonder threaded through. Encounters with gods weren’t exactly handed out.
Her next words brought his head up a little, the mention of Mort anchoring his attention more firmly on her. Returned Sascha to her side—that kind of mercy was no small thing. He studied the bear for a long beat, quiet but intent. The truth of it was hard to deny when the proof lay curled at her boots.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower now, meant for her more than for the others scattered about the room. “What was it like? Meeting them. Frey, especially.” His head tilted, eyes narrowing faintly with curiosity. “I’d like to know what it was really like to stand before them. What you saw in them.”
Though his words were plain, his emotions were layered in a way he didn’t fully admit to himself: a guarded longing, the kind that came from wanting to believe but fearing what belief might cost. There was no envy in it, not really, but a weight of restless hunger, the awareness of his own distance from something greater. He held her gaze, steady and unblinking, as though willing her answer to reveal something more than just the tale.
And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek
For whatever it is I seek
