ISKRA
I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized
The game of tag the two creatures play sways back and forth with who is it. A mess of barks and growls, fur and tails, and snow-flinging feet that at one point shy too close to the mule and them. Iskra chastises Goose, who ought to know better, with a stern tone and a sharp command tossed out. The husky heeds the warning by tucking his ass and drifting the play further away, but he also yips back some sort of opinion about the whole thing, scarcely fazed.
As they haul the log, Iskra doesn't have breath or mind to do anything but bear the weight and the movement to get them done the quickest and safest. Once they get it in place, he sets it down with a huff, a gloves hand swiping at the sweat that's beaded up around his hairline with the nonstop labor. Behind him, the mule cocks a back foot, dozing while it can between the hauls.
"Why don't ya ask a god for something?" Iskra wonders, squinting over the log at Damien as the man gathers his tool. Iskra's got his own on his belt, ignored for now in favor of talk and wind. "Ludo made me a nice greataxe. I actually need to see if he'll help me improve it." He's not sure if Ludo's who Damien would want or not, and he isn't sure if he remembers right, but he thinks Damien is an Accepted. Unlike Iskra, talking to gods is rather up his skill tree then, so perhaps he's already got a notion of what he wants and from who.
Wiping off some sap on the side of his leg, Iskra grabs for his axe too, nodding at Damien so they can strike together on either end. With luck, they'll work a split together down it. "I grew up in Torchline," Iskra explains as he heaves the axe over his head and drives it down with his full body. "Bit of a change," he laughs, wrestling the metal free of the wood.
As they haul the log, Iskra doesn't have breath or mind to do anything but bear the weight and the movement to get them done the quickest and safest. Once they get it in place, he sets it down with a huff, a gloves hand swiping at the sweat that's beaded up around his hairline with the nonstop labor. Behind him, the mule cocks a back foot, dozing while it can between the hauls.
"Why don't ya ask a god for something?" Iskra wonders, squinting over the log at Damien as the man gathers his tool. Iskra's got his own on his belt, ignored for now in favor of talk and wind. "Ludo made me a nice greataxe. I actually need to see if he'll help me improve it." He's not sure if Ludo's who Damien would want or not, and he isn't sure if he remembers right, but he thinks Damien is an Accepted. Unlike Iskra, talking to gods is rather up his skill tree then, so perhaps he's already got a notion of what he wants and from who.
Wiping off some sap on the side of his leg, Iskra grabs for his axe too, nodding at Damien so they can strike together on either end. With luck, they'll work a split together down it. "I grew up in Torchline," Iskra explains as he heaves the axe over his head and drives it down with his full body. "Bit of a change," he laughs, wrestling the metal free of the wood.
I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free
that can set my soul free
