Theea
know this ain't for the weak
or for hate, it's for soul
or for hate, it's for soul
I thought my next time in Stormbreak would be a tour with Mateo—sticky buns, star maps, the whole fun sort of day. Maybe I’ll still find him later. After I cut my way through a bunch of ugly, massive rats. Plus, this is its own kind of fun, right?
Thick pants, heavy jacket that actually fits (bless every layer between me and chisel-teeth), I jog up the temple steps with a grin that bites like the morning. The boys are already gathered in the sun; the Trinity Temple rears over us, all arches and shadow, like it’s holding its breath.
"Morning boys," I say as I approach, breath clouding. I spot Hawthorn—supply lodge designer with an easy grin—and lift a hand in greeting before I bounce right to Damien’s side.
The moment I meet his eye, something in me sharpens. The air narrows, the noise blurs, and there’s that quick, bright thrill in my chest—fight-ready and a little reckless. I shoulder-bump him, solid. He steadies me without even trying. I look up at him and can’t help the smile that rises, warm and stupid for half a second, then I school it back into focus as Deimos passes out journal pages.
I already know a bit about ROUS—but this page is absolutely helpful. I lean toward Damien and Hawthorn. “They’re kind of cute in an ugly way,” I murmur. “Not that I won't split it from ear to tail.”
For Deimos, I draw the shortsword he gave me and give it a neat little twirl. It’s heavier than a dagger, sure—but the weight feels good, like a decision I mean to keep. My twin daggers sit snug at my hips, faithful as ever. I incline my head to the Warden. “Ready when you are.”
Thee brings her shortsword and two daggers!
Thick pants, heavy jacket that actually fits (bless every layer between me and chisel-teeth), I jog up the temple steps with a grin that bites like the morning. The boys are already gathered in the sun; the Trinity Temple rears over us, all arches and shadow, like it’s holding its breath.
"Morning boys," I say as I approach, breath clouding. I spot Hawthorn—supply lodge designer with an easy grin—and lift a hand in greeting before I bounce right to Damien’s side.
The moment I meet his eye, something in me sharpens. The air narrows, the noise blurs, and there’s that quick, bright thrill in my chest—fight-ready and a little reckless. I shoulder-bump him, solid. He steadies me without even trying. I look up at him and can’t help the smile that rises, warm and stupid for half a second, then I school it back into focus as Deimos passes out journal pages.
I already know a bit about ROUS—but this page is absolutely helpful. I lean toward Damien and Hawthorn. “They’re kind of cute in an ugly way,” I murmur. “Not that I won't split it from ear to tail.”
For Deimos, I draw the shortsword he gave me and give it a neat little twirl. It’s heavier than a dagger, sure—but the weight feels good, like a decision I mean to keep. My twin daggers sit snug at my hips, faithful as ever. I incline my head to the Warden. “Ready when you are.”
Thee brings her shortsword and two daggers!
tell them to retreat
cause they ain't even close
cause they ain't even close
