Damien
the woods have remembered you
He let it happen. The slip under his arm, the ghost-touch at his hip, the knife sliding mean toward the seam of his ribs—it all played out like she meant it to, and Damien didn’t stop her. He trusted she wouldn’t gut him, even if her voice came sharp as a knife’s edge.The move was overkill, and he knew it. But so was the heat in her words, the crack of leather as she shoved the sword home. Anger burned off her in waves, and for a second it surprised him—how hard she’d driven it, how much she’d hated the shield.
Damien didn’t rise to it. He just stood there, breath steaming, chest heaving once, twice, until the fire in him dulled into something steadier. Slowly, he straightened, unhurried, the axe dropping low until the point bit into the packed snow. He didn’t bare teeth back at her, didn’t throw words like stones. He faced her square-on, enough that she’d know he wasn’t ignoring her, but his eyes weren’t sharp anymore. Just tired, thoughtful, weighing things.
Silence held the barracks, thick as the cold. He let it. Words rushed in too easy, and most of them would just make it worse. He thought about saying why he’d chosen the shields; that it was the safest way to keep from cutting each other open, that practice meant pushing past comfort, that sometimes you didn’t get to fight your way and had to learn to adapt. And, frankly, he felt that she could benefit from becoming a little stronger.
He let the moment pass, letting her words hang between them, but inside, a harsher voice had already taken hold. Idiot. Should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve shut your mouth. Should’ve read her better. The sting wasn’t in being wrong about the technique, or even in the scolding—it was in the look she’d given him, the one that said he’d misjudged more than the spar. He turned it over in his head like a stone in his palm, heavy and stubborn. Not fear, exactly. Just the weight of knowing he could drive people away if he wasn’t careful—and he wasn’t about to let that happen with her.
Finally, he stepped toward her, closing some of the distance she'd put between them. His dark brown gaze hovered across her face to try and hold the wintry blue of hers as he murmured, “I didn't know you'd hate it. I'm sorry.” His voice was still low and steady, but not as rough as usual. He studied her expression. It wasn't enough. There was more he'd done wrong. “I wasn’t trying to rile you up. Just… I was only teasing, I thought it was making things lighter. Guess I misread...”
ever since the first time you got lost in them
