Damien
the woods have remembered you
Her grin was feral, teeth flashing, and Damien read it as determination, not anger. She slipped in with all her assassin trickery: shield flashing high, rim swimming over his arm, footwork threading like water. He felt the jam at his elbow, the slip at his flank, and then the sting across his back, flat but mean, a jab meant for kidneys. Close enough that it would’ve hurt like hell if she hadn’t turned the edge. His hand flexed as he adjusted his grip while she was busy looking for her way out, twisting the way the axe faced so the blade was facing behind him.By the time she peeled off, two paces clear, his breath steamed hot, chest tight with the thrill of it. She was good—faster than him, sharper in the angles, clever in ways training had burned into her bones.
He surged forward then, not reckless but with more weight than before, shield snapping up high and centered in a broad check to busy her defense and provide him some protection of his own. Not enough to crush her, but it was enough that she’d feel the force of it shudder through her arm much harder than before.
At the same time, his axe swept low and tight, not the blade but the back end of the head—a hooked, dragging motion aimed to catch her boot and yank her off-balance the moment she tried to run, jump, or twist away. His strength was still restrained, still holding back from real harm, but he was certainly moving harder, with more bite than before. A taste of what he wasn’t showing her.
"No, that's not all," he answered to her taunting question, his tone neutral, simple. He held the axe under his shield-arm for a moment as he reached out an open palm, offering to help her back up. He nodded to her new armament. "How do you like having a shield?"
(Training 3/4)
ever since the first time you got lost in them
