Damien
the woods have remembered you
Damien only shrugged at her wrinkled nose, letting her think what she liked about shields. He wasn’t going to preach his reasons for wanting them—just let the challenge hang in the air and waited to see if she’d bite. And of course she did. He thought he caught the faintest shiver run through her when he laid it out, one she could blame on the cold if she wanted. But when her smirk sharpened and she hefted the shield anyway, he felt a grin of his own tugging up, teeth flashing wolf-quick.She moved like she always did; fast, low, tricky. A lynx in the snow, quick to strike, quicker to vanish. Damien gave ground in deliberate steps, backing them out into the open yard where the snow was trampled thin. More space to move, more room to make it real. He wasn’t a soldier, never had been, but somewhere inside of him the boy who once dreamed of being one was practically howling with joy.
Her sword flicked high, but he knew her game. Maybe he didn’t know, not really, but he guessed—because she’d tried the same trick before, only empty-handed. So when her blade rose, he angled his shield up, but not all the way. Just enough to give her the impression he’d taken the bait.
Then came the slam of her shield against his axe, sharp and sure. Okay, clever. He felt the haft jar against his guard and her body pressing in, hip to hip. But instead of fighting her strength, Damien rolled with it. He let the axe dip low under the pressure, yanking it free of the bind, and shoved forward with his own shield, edge-first—not using so much strength as to throw or throttle her, but to push her off-line. The sudden twist of his weight carried him sideways, slipping just out of reach as the flat of her blade cut air instead of his ribs.
He laughed under his breath, rough and low, the kind of sound that wasn’t quite mocking but close enough. “Almost,” he said, steadying himself again, “but I've seen that one before.”
(Training 1/4)
ever since the first time you got lost in them
