Damien
the woods have remembered you
Aria crouched low, muscles coiled, then sprang in a tight, zigzagging dash around Goose, claws digging into the snow. Her little growls echoed through the cold air, each one a challenge thrown down and instantly snatched up by motion alone. She twisted, spun, and launched herself over a drift, landing with a soft crunch only to pivot back toward him, springy and relentless.Damien’s lips curled upward at corners as he just shook his head, trying not to get too distracted by the animals while they worked. “A magical coat would be nice,” he was saying, tone almost casual, “Would’ve saved me more than one miserable night in the snow if I’d had something like that.”
The cub was a whirlwind, impossible to track, a blur of white fur and teeth that only looked sharp because she was small and overenthusiastic. Each time she collided with Goose, even if just in a bump or a paw swipe or complete barreling, she skittered off across the snowy ground again, long tail swimming behind her, ears perked up in pure delight, chirruping to tease the dog.
Damien listened as Iskra spoke of the bundles, his eyes following the mule's steady movements. It wasn’t just the wood, it was who it warmed. That line of thought always made the work feel less endless, more like it mattered. Halo changes a person. Even the small things stick with you.
After a moment, Damien tilted his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you left behind when you came to Halo,” he said, tone quieter than usual, “but I get it. Places can take, but they give too. You learn to be grateful for what you do have.”
He stepped up at Iskra's signal, hooking the other end of the log. He shifted his weight, letting his knees absorb the heft as he lifted, the muscles in his back and arms remembering years of cold mornings and frozen woodpiles. The log wasn’t light, but it wasn’t a surprise either; the forest had taught him to respect weight, not fear it.
They moved it toward the splitting area, snow and twigs crunching under boots, Aria padding nearby with a careful, curious watch.
He set the log down carefully, rolling it into position against the chopping block.
Damien’s hand rested briefly on the haft of his axe, the old one he’d trusted for seasons now, blade nicked and worn but honed sharp enough for the job. It wasn’t flashy, didn’t gleam, but it carried the comfort of familiarity, of every swing that had split more logs than he could count.
ever since the first time you got lost in them
