Damien
you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence
and the ache after the silence
Her whisper ghosted against his ear, warmer than the breath that plumed white between them, and for a second his focus flicked off the leopard. Theea was close—closer than he expected—and in the wash of cold he caught the trace of her. Smoke from the Kraai’s hearth clung faintly to her hair, undercut by something sharper, wilder, like pine resin split open in winter air. It stirred in him the same way the call of the leopard had: something caught between ache and recognition.
But then she eased back, and he let the spell break. Damien exhaled through his nose, low, steady, shaking the thought away like snow off a hood. His gaze tracked the pale beast again, shoulders tightening against the cold stone. He leaned toward her just enough to murmur back, voice thin but certain.
“Better hunting grounds,” he whispered, nodding at her call. She was right. The mountains east of the Citadel would give it more than the Fangs could now.
The leopard began its climb then, prowling higher into a tangle of ledges and ice-crusted stone. Its haunches bunched, claws scrabbling sparks off rock as it leapt for a higher perch. Damien pulled Theea down with a touch to her arm, crouching into shadow. “We wait. If it sees us, this is over. And I’m not coming back in Deepfrost.” The last word carried more weight than volume; he meant it.
The beast surged upward, slipping once—heart-stopping, a lunge of muscle and snow—and nearly lost its hold. Damien tensed, every instinct screaming at the sight of it dangling, before its claws found stone again. It dragged itself over the lip with a shuddering shake of its coat and vanished into the black ridge above. The silence left in its wake pressed down hard, filled only by the hiss of wind between rocks.
Damien stayed still, counting heartbeats in the dark. Only when the sound of padded steps faded beyond reach did he let his breath go. “Alright,” he said at last, louder now, a low sigh that steamed the air. “I think we can start.”
He swung his pack off his shoulder and crouched, pulling free a coil of rope and the rough iron hook he kept buried deep for nights like this. Halo had taught him the hard way: cliffs demanded insurance. He checked the line with a tug, the fibers stiff with frost but sound, then glanced at Theea. “We’ll take it careful. I’ll go first, get this in place. You climb after me. If you slip, I’ve got you.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes lingered a beat longer, catching the way the stars were a silver sheen across her eyes. Then he turned back to the stone, squaring himself to the climb, rope ready in one hand, the other feeling for the first hold.
But then she eased back, and he let the spell break. Damien exhaled through his nose, low, steady, shaking the thought away like snow off a hood. His gaze tracked the pale beast again, shoulders tightening against the cold stone. He leaned toward her just enough to murmur back, voice thin but certain.
“Better hunting grounds,” he whispered, nodding at her call. She was right. The mountains east of the Citadel would give it more than the Fangs could now.
The leopard began its climb then, prowling higher into a tangle of ledges and ice-crusted stone. Its haunches bunched, claws scrabbling sparks off rock as it leapt for a higher perch. Damien pulled Theea down with a touch to her arm, crouching into shadow. “We wait. If it sees us, this is over. And I’m not coming back in Deepfrost.” The last word carried more weight than volume; he meant it.
The beast surged upward, slipping once—heart-stopping, a lunge of muscle and snow—and nearly lost its hold. Damien tensed, every instinct screaming at the sight of it dangling, before its claws found stone again. It dragged itself over the lip with a shuddering shake of its coat and vanished into the black ridge above. The silence left in its wake pressed down hard, filled only by the hiss of wind between rocks.
Damien stayed still, counting heartbeats in the dark. Only when the sound of padded steps faded beyond reach did he let his breath go. “Alright,” he said at last, louder now, a low sigh that steamed the air. “I think we can start.”
He swung his pack off his shoulder and crouched, pulling free a coil of rope and the rough iron hook he kept buried deep for nights like this. Halo had taught him the hard way: cliffs demanded insurance. He checked the line with a tug, the fibers stiff with frost but sound, then glanced at Theea. “We’ll take it careful. I’ll go first, get this in place. You climb after me. If you slip, I’ve got you.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes lingered a beat longer, catching the way the stars were a silver sheen across her eyes. Then he turned back to the stone, squaring himself to the climb, rope ready in one hand, the other feeling for the first hold.
