Theea
sometimes we gotta risk
it all to chase a dream
it all to chase a dream
He agrees, and I look out to the leopard as it climbs, a pale ghost threading the black ribs of the ridge. At Damien’s touch I obey, lowering into a crouch. Stone is cold against my knees; wind hisses through the cuts in the rock, tugging at my hood. I stay close—close enough to share even the smallest ribbon of warmth. As if he’s read my mind, he says he won’t come back in Deepfrost. I shake my head hard. "Absolutely not."
The leopard slips. For one suspended heartbeat it hangs there—muscle and winter fur and sudden helplessness—and the drop yawns too far, too final. I hold my breath, useless to do anything but watch, until its claws shriek against stone and catch. It surges over the lip and disappears into the dark. Only when Damien speaks do I realize how hard my heart is hammering.
I look up at him, breathing the anxiety out in slow measures. I nod… and then watch him tug free a coil of rope and an iron hook. My heart lurches, but I don’t let it show. I can do this. This is fine. I give him a tight smile and another nod. "I’ll be right behind you."
He starts the climb. My pulse thunders while I track every placement of his hands and boots, as if the ledge might crumble under him if I look away. I breathe deep; the cold sears my lungs clean. I wait until the rope is set, until his weight tells me it’s true.
And even then, I hesitate. It’s a small cliff, I tell myself. Soft snow below. Not even that high, and you have a rope.
I grab on and begin to climb, legs shaking more than I want to admit. Halfway up I stall, glance down into the blue-black drop, squeeze my eyes shut, and haul in a trembling breath before I move again.
My foot finds the wrong spot. Snow and ice sheer away beneath my boot. I suck in a sharp breath and choke down the scream clawing up my throat, clutching the rope as I scramble for purchase—and this, this has to be what my dad felt—
"Damien!" I gasp, panic cracking the name on the cold air.
The leopard slips. For one suspended heartbeat it hangs there—muscle and winter fur and sudden helplessness—and the drop yawns too far, too final. I hold my breath, useless to do anything but watch, until its claws shriek against stone and catch. It surges over the lip and disappears into the dark. Only when Damien speaks do I realize how hard my heart is hammering.
I look up at him, breathing the anxiety out in slow measures. I nod… and then watch him tug free a coil of rope and an iron hook. My heart lurches, but I don’t let it show. I can do this. This is fine. I give him a tight smile and another nod. "I’ll be right behind you."
He starts the climb. My pulse thunders while I track every placement of his hands and boots, as if the ledge might crumble under him if I look away. I breathe deep; the cold sears my lungs clean. I wait until the rope is set, until his weight tells me it’s true.
And even then, I hesitate. It’s a small cliff, I tell myself. Soft snow below. Not even that high, and you have a rope.
I grab on and begin to climb, legs shaking more than I want to admit. Halfway up I stall, glance down into the blue-black drop, squeeze my eyes shut, and haul in a trembling breath before I move again.
My foot finds the wrong spot. Snow and ice sheer away beneath my boot. I suck in a sharp breath and choke down the scream clawing up my throat, clutching the rope as I scramble for purchase—and this, this has to be what my dad felt—
"Damien!" I gasp, panic cracking the name on the cold air.
if we dive in headfirst,
all or nothing kinda thing
all or nothing kinda thing
