Theea
sometimes we gotta risk
it all to chase a dream
it all to chase a dream
Damien's approving sound and statement leave my cheeks warming, but it's easy to pretend it's the bite of the winter air.
I follow his gaze to the cave again, and I sense it isn't fondness he's remembering. It's the crisis. The blood. That's the part I try not to think about. How close I'd been to being ferried into Mort's embrace. I'd laughed about it at the time. Made jokes like I hadn't only barelly escaped being gutted entirely.
My own voice ghosts in my head, and my jaw clenches. See? All my insides are where they should be.
I look up at Damnien's quiet voice, and for once, I don't smile. My lips are just tight when I nod, and I follow silently, climbing up the ridge after him. In a way, the view of the fangs could be beautiful, but I seem to only have a single fond memory here - Damien, Aria. The rest are some of the worst memories I have, ones I'd forget if I could.
I push it away before I can get sucked into that spiral - those are saved for when it's just me.
I focus on the snow, on the ice, on searching for a coat that turns invisible in the Fangs. I crouch beside him, and I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Movement keeps me warm... and movement keeps me sane. I've never been one to stay in one place or position for long, some kind of painful restlessness always plaging me. Sometimes a warm coffee helps, but this is just about torment. By a mighty force of will and Damien's steady presence beside me, I manage it, but it's cold, and I want to move.
I don't miss Damien's nearness as the stars blink to life, and I'm silently grateful for it. I shift closer, until my shoulder brushes his, until his warmth melts into mine. It's easier to remain still, then.
The night is deep and cold when it finallly apears. My attention piques, and I watch with sharp, eager eyes. We're far enough away for me to admire him. But close enough to see his distress. His confusion. Perhaps things are different for big cats. They don't stick together, really.
But he's so openly lost something, and that chuff he lets loose cracks something in my chest. It pulls a lump up in my throat. My eyes sting. My eyes stay on it, watching it pace, lift it's nose to the air, searching. I only look away when I see Damien's head turn from the corner of my eye.
When I find his dark eyes, I find the same aching remorse for what had to be done. Something about the shared pang of it tugs me closer, my shoulder pressing into his with a kind of solidarity.
He motions for me to stay still, and I just give a silent nod, turning my attention back to the predator.
He disappears into the cave, slipping by what's left of Damien's rock wall. I wonder if he still smells us - I'm sure he does, all that blood. He wanders back out after a time, and I can see his breath cloud with another chuff, turning his head to scan the snow, as if he might find his mate and cub out there.
And then he starts padding away, coat only lined with moonlight against the snow. He travels against the wind, sniffing, maybe following something - but thankfully we're downwind.
I look at Damien, and I wait for his cue, and follow wordlessly at his bidding. This is his quest, after all.
I follow his gaze to the cave again, and I sense it isn't fondness he's remembering. It's the crisis. The blood. That's the part I try not to think about. How close I'd been to being ferried into Mort's embrace. I'd laughed about it at the time. Made jokes like I hadn't only barelly escaped being gutted entirely.
My own voice ghosts in my head, and my jaw clenches. See? All my insides are where they should be.
I look up at Damnien's quiet voice, and for once, I don't smile. My lips are just tight when I nod, and I follow silently, climbing up the ridge after him. In a way, the view of the fangs could be beautiful, but I seem to only have a single fond memory here - Damien, Aria. The rest are some of the worst memories I have, ones I'd forget if I could.
I push it away before I can get sucked into that spiral - those are saved for when it's just me.
I focus on the snow, on the ice, on searching for a coat that turns invisible in the Fangs. I crouch beside him, and I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Movement keeps me warm... and movement keeps me sane. I've never been one to stay in one place or position for long, some kind of painful restlessness always plaging me. Sometimes a warm coffee helps, but this is just about torment. By a mighty force of will and Damien's steady presence beside me, I manage it, but it's cold, and I want to move.
I don't miss Damien's nearness as the stars blink to life, and I'm silently grateful for it. I shift closer, until my shoulder brushes his, until his warmth melts into mine. It's easier to remain still, then.
The night is deep and cold when it finallly apears. My attention piques, and I watch with sharp, eager eyes. We're far enough away for me to admire him. But close enough to see his distress. His confusion. Perhaps things are different for big cats. They don't stick together, really.
But he's so openly lost something, and that chuff he lets loose cracks something in my chest. It pulls a lump up in my throat. My eyes sting. My eyes stay on it, watching it pace, lift it's nose to the air, searching. I only look away when I see Damien's head turn from the corner of my eye.
When I find his dark eyes, I find the same aching remorse for what had to be done. Something about the shared pang of it tugs me closer, my shoulder pressing into his with a kind of solidarity.
He motions for me to stay still, and I just give a silent nod, turning my attention back to the predator.
He disappears into the cave, slipping by what's left of Damien's rock wall. I wonder if he still smells us - I'm sure he does, all that blood. He wanders back out after a time, and I can see his breath cloud with another chuff, turning his head to scan the snow, as if he might find his mate and cub out there.
And then he starts padding away, coat only lined with moonlight against the snow. He travels against the wind, sniffing, maybe following something - but thankfully we're downwind.
I look at Damien, and I wait for his cue, and follow wordlessly at his bidding. This is his quest, after all.
if we dive in headfirst,
all or nothing kinda thing
all or nothing kinda thing
