Damien
the woods have remembered you
Damien hadn’t taken more than two steps from his cover when the first one caught him. Not Deimos this time, but smaller, sharper, and aimed with intent. It clipped the back of his head, snow bursting against his collar and slipping cold down the nape of his neck. He winced, shoulders hunching as the ice slid beneath his shirt.He didn’t need to look to know the culprit. The sudden cheer of his name from before, the fox-quick movements behind that little fortress, the way she disappeared right after throwing.
“Is that how it’s gonna be?” he called, rough amusement lining his voice, already crouching low to scoop another handful of snow. This one he worked slower, packing it tight, shaping it firm, testing the weight. Behind him, another impact hit—smaller, less expected, as if the snow itself had reached out to cuff him in the back of the shoulder. He jerked a glance around, brows drawing together. No one. No footprints. Just Goose, happily lapping up snow like the fool beast he was. And Iskra, who was apparently another victim of the sneaky assault.
Damien huffed, shaking his head, the faint crease of suspicion never quite leaving his brow. Fine. Let the ghosts have their fun.
He rose halfway from his crouch, eyes tracking the curve of the fort
His arm cocked back. He didn’t aim for her directly. Not yet. He lobbed the snowball in a clean arc, fast and tight, to slam into the top of her wall. Snow burst in a soft spray, showering down over her hidden arsenal.
“Consider that a warning shot,” he said, voice carrying with a thread of a grin.
Not ten seconds later, another of Deimos’s massive projectiles thundered across the field, and Damien ducked reflexively back behind his makeshift barricade, snow exploding somewhere in the periphery. He pressed his shoulder to the wall, laughing under his breath, dry and low.
“Gods help me,” he muttered, brushing stray flakes from his collar. “I should’ve went for the drinks.”
ever since the first time you got lost in them
