Damien
"I never see you at the club!"
Okay? I never see you at the creek
Okay? I never see you at the creek
“She will be,” Damien answered Maea as he steadied the post while she set the rails. His tone carried the weight of certainty, like it was a matter of time rather than doubt. “Not yet. Aria’s still young, and there's a few things we need to do first. But one day.” The cub’s name came out with an ease that hinted he’d already said it aloud more often than he’d realized.
That “one day” came quicker than expected. Aria’s bold pounce on Colt ’s trousers turned into a tangle of swears and barbed wire, and Damien’s head snapped up at the sound of his name being barked across the line. The cub darted back toward him at once, tail bushed out and ears pinned in half-guilty, half-excited confusion.
Damien crouched low to scoop her up before she could get herself into more trouble. He set her on his shoulders instead, her little claws hooking carefully into the heavy wool of his sweater as she clambered up and settled there like she’d been born to ride it. His mouth pressed into a thin line that twitched faintly at the corner—Colt tripping over a half-weaned cub wasn’t a story he’d risk telling out loud.
“Sorry! Won’t happen again,” he called, voice carrying. The kind of apology that promised he’d keep better reins without wasting words on it. A steadying hand brushed over Aria’s flank where she perched on his shoulder, and she blinked down at the rancher with all the innocent solemnity of someone who’d absolutely do it again if given the chance.
When Colt called them onward, Damien fell in step without hesitation. The feed shed’s charred outline was a different kind of work, heavier than digging posts, but work he knew well enough. He gathered a section of wall frame, bracing its weight against his body as he carried it into place beside the skeleton of the structure already rising from the burnt earth. Aria clung easily to his shoulders through the shifting, her head swiveling to watch every nail and hammer strike as if she were supervising.
Damien set the frame upright, boot heel grinding it steady against the ash-hardened soil. Then he picked up a hammer again, lining the first nail against the beam. The rhythm came back quick—strike, adjust, strike again—each blow solid and sure. Aria perched like a sentinel and the smell of resinous pine was thick in the air.
Damien puts Aria atop his shoulders and starts working on the shed!
That “one day” came quicker than expected. Aria’s bold pounce on Colt ’s trousers turned into a tangle of swears and barbed wire, and Damien’s head snapped up at the sound of his name being barked across the line. The cub darted back toward him at once, tail bushed out and ears pinned in half-guilty, half-excited confusion.
Damien crouched low to scoop her up before she could get herself into more trouble. He set her on his shoulders instead, her little claws hooking carefully into the heavy wool of his sweater as she clambered up and settled there like she’d been born to ride it. His mouth pressed into a thin line that twitched faintly at the corner—Colt tripping over a half-weaned cub wasn’t a story he’d risk telling out loud.
“Sorry! Won’t happen again,” he called, voice carrying. The kind of apology that promised he’d keep better reins without wasting words on it. A steadying hand brushed over Aria’s flank where she perched on his shoulder, and she blinked down at the rancher with all the innocent solemnity of someone who’d absolutely do it again if given the chance.
When Colt called them onward, Damien fell in step without hesitation. The feed shed’s charred outline was a different kind of work, heavier than digging posts, but work he knew well enough. He gathered a section of wall frame, bracing its weight against his body as he carried it into place beside the skeleton of the structure already rising from the burnt earth. Aria clung easily to his shoulders through the shifting, her head swiveling to watch every nail and hammer strike as if she were supervising.
Damien set the frame upright, boot heel grinding it steady against the ash-hardened soil. Then he picked up a hammer again, lining the first nail against the beam. The rhythm came back quick—strike, adjust, strike again—each blow solid and sure. Aria perched like a sentinel and the smell of resinous pine was thick in the air.
Damien puts Aria atop his shoulders and starts working on the shed!
