Damien
you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence
and the ache after the silence
Relief hit him slow and heavy, like thaw water breaking loose from ice. He’d seen it before—people going down hard, not but twenty feet, twenty-five, and not getting back up. Skull cracked on the wrong edge of stone, neck twisted the wrong way. Sometimes life really was that merciless.
But not now. She was there, locked tight against his chest, alive and shaking in his arms. His own breath shuddered once before settling, his heartbeat a rhythmic drum to steady hers.
When her apology came muffled into him, he gave her a squeeze—gentle, grounding. “Don’t be sorry,” he rumbled, voice quiet but firm. “I was never gonna let you fall.”
She fit against him too well, truth be told. Her warmth pressed into him like she belonged there, reminding him of that night with her in the cave, and he let the moment last longer for it. When she finally looked up, her eyes caught his—close enough that the faintest heat skimmed his lips—and for a moment he let himself drown in the wintry-blue light of them. Long enough for temptation to bite. Too long.
He broke it off by looking skyward, throat tight, pretending to trace constellations he couldn’t name. The stars gave him cover, a way to breathe past the pull of her.
Her voice cut through, soft, reminding him of the leopard. He gave a small grunt, nodding. “Mmh.. It's almost morning, and then we can head back. I know it's cold, we don't have to keep following him," he stepped back and looked her over, brushing some snow off her shoulder, "But… let's stay and watch just a bit longer.” His tone carried something heavier than curiosity—an odd, unspoken rooting for the beast, as if its survival mattered more than it should.
Turning his broad shoulders, he scanned the ridgeline they stood upon. The snow had been churned where the cat’s weight had scraped stone raw, and in the jagged mess he caught it: a single claw, ripped loose where it had snagged. Damien crouched and plucked it free, turning the curved thing in his palm. A keepsake, bone-white against his rough hand, sharp even when broken loose.
He tucked it into his pocket and stood, eyes narrowing over the expanse. The leopard had made distance, its pale form stitched against the black seam of the mountains beyond. Damien's gaze tracked until the faint movement resolved itself—a specter threading its way into better ground.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. He didn’t point. Instead he tipped his head toward the horizon, voice low but edged with challenge. “Can you spot him from here?”
He stayed there against the fading night, breath steaming in the cold, watching her patiently, waiting for her eyes to find the same ghost he had.
But not now. She was there, locked tight against his chest, alive and shaking in his arms. His own breath shuddered once before settling, his heartbeat a rhythmic drum to steady hers.
When her apology came muffled into him, he gave her a squeeze—gentle, grounding. “Don’t be sorry,” he rumbled, voice quiet but firm. “I was never gonna let you fall.”
She fit against him too well, truth be told. Her warmth pressed into him like she belonged there, reminding him of that night with her in the cave, and he let the moment last longer for it. When she finally looked up, her eyes caught his—close enough that the faintest heat skimmed his lips—and for a moment he let himself drown in the wintry-blue light of them. Long enough for temptation to bite. Too long.
He broke it off by looking skyward, throat tight, pretending to trace constellations he couldn’t name. The stars gave him cover, a way to breathe past the pull of her.
Her voice cut through, soft, reminding him of the leopard. He gave a small grunt, nodding. “Mmh.. It's almost morning, and then we can head back. I know it's cold, we don't have to keep following him," he stepped back and looked her over, brushing some snow off her shoulder, "But… let's stay and watch just a bit longer.” His tone carried something heavier than curiosity—an odd, unspoken rooting for the beast, as if its survival mattered more than it should.
Turning his broad shoulders, he scanned the ridgeline they stood upon. The snow had been churned where the cat’s weight had scraped stone raw, and in the jagged mess he caught it: a single claw, ripped loose where it had snagged. Damien crouched and plucked it free, turning the curved thing in his palm. A keepsake, bone-white against his rough hand, sharp even when broken loose.
He tucked it into his pocket and stood, eyes narrowing over the expanse. The leopard had made distance, its pale form stitched against the black seam of the mountains beyond. Damien's gaze tracked until the faint movement resolved itself—a specter threading its way into better ground.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. He didn’t point. Instead he tipped his head toward the horizon, voice low but edged with challenge. “Can you spot him from here?”
He stayed there against the fading night, breath steaming in the cold, watching her patiently, waiting for her eyes to find the same ghost he had.
