Damien
the woods have remembered you
At Iskra’s question, Damien tilted his head up from the axework and gave a curt nod. “Blizzard took ’em both when I was a boy,” he said, voice low, matter-of-fact. His gaze dropped back to the wood as he spoke, splitting another piece clean down the middle. How or why exactly, he’d never know. Avalanche, ursur, frostbite—it didn’t matter. They’d gone out into the white and never come back. Over the years, his imagination had worked every grim possibility. These days, he tried not to linger on it. It was better not to feed the ghosts.Iskra’s next words drew his attention back up, though, that gentle tone carrying something unspoken Damien couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t good at reading hearts like paper—but he knew the weight of them when he heard it. He nodded once, firm.
He exhaled, set the axe aside, and straightened with a quiet grunt as Iskra called for the bundling. Damien caught the bundle of rope tossed his way and stepped over to the growing stack of wood. Kneeling, he began looping cord around his chosen pile of split logs. Bark scraped his gloves; the sap stuck faintly sweet.
At Iskra’s mention of visiting the Grounds, Damien gave a faint snort of agreement. “There's plenty to gain in new places. Balance, isn’t it? Travel where you can, but always come back to something that’s yours.” He paused as he cinched a bundle into a tight pyramid with efficient knots. “Hasn’t always been that way for me. Used to shut the world out. Just do the work, nothing more. It felt... safer, in a way.” His brow furrowed, then eased, a rare admission pulling itself loose. “But people need… people. Better to be part of something, take the risks, than spend your life with no one knowing you were even there.”
Aria yowled at Goose’s latest feint, tumbling into the snow belly-up with all four of her paws dangling in the air.
ever since the first time you got lost in them
