Damien
the woods have remembered you
Damien’s boots crunched against the packed snow as he stepped up to the edge of the wider arena, the scent of cocoa and pastry tugging at the edges of his awareness. He didn’t move fast, didn’t rush—never did—but each footfall carried him deliberately, like he was measuring the space, the angles, the potential threats. Not that anyone here posed one. Or didn't they..?“Looks like you’ve claimed the perfect fortress,” he said, voice low, carrying the weight of ice and timber, as he crouched just beyond her line of sight. Not a threat, nor an intrusion—just acknowledgment.
He’d barely crossed the threshold when a small, firm snowball struck his shoulder. Damien froze just long enough to register the hit, a dry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Deimos ? "Ey, I wasn't ready!" He protested, but he already understood that the rules of snowball fights clearly state that you should throw snowballs when your enemy is least expecting. He bent slightly, scooping up a handful of snow, compressing it with careful pressure, then lobbed it toward one of the nearest half-built ramparts in answer.
He stepped fully into the open now. His eyes flicked past her to the other familiar faces scattered around. Iskra was already nursing a mug of cocoa, Goose darting around, nose first into a draped snowbank. Damien gave the dog a casual greeting—which it ignored.
He let himself drift toward the small cluster of warmth, crouching near a modest fort that wasn’t Theea’s but close enough for cover. “ Iskra,” he called over to the lumberjack, “don’t tell me you’re just here for the cocoa!” His glance softened, faintly amused at the picture of Iskra hunched over the steaming mug.
ever since the first time you got lost in them
