Damien
you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence
and the ache after the silence
Damien followed the line of her finger, squinting. The cat bounded once, silver flashing against the dark, then vanished into stone and snow again. Her question hung in the thin air, soft but heavy.
He let the silence sit a beat before he answered, voice low, flat in its honesty. “Can’t promise it. Out here, nothing’s certain. A bad storm, a broken leg, another predator—it doesn’t take much..” He exhaled, fog curling. “But he’s got fight in him. Smarter than most, and not mean the way the other one was. I’ve got hope for him.” His mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile, but something close. “Maybe we’ll see him again someday, if we’re lucky.”
He turned toward her then, broad frame angling into the faint silver of dawn. His dark eyes softened as he met hers. “Thank you for coming. I know it wasn’t easy.” His hand brushed against her arm, steady and warm even through layers. A pause, his voice dropping rougher. “I’m sorry for the scare. Going down, we’ll take it slower. Careful.”
He cast one last look toward the faint silhouette slipping eastward, and said simply, “Here’s hoping he makes it.”
The peaks stood silent around them, the wind tugging their cloaks, the horizon bleeding from black into ashen light. Below, the cat kept moving—alone now, but not undone. Nature didn’t mourn like men did; it bent, broke, and sometimes remade itself sharper. Some beasts adapted, carved out new ground from old grief. Others collapsed into hunger and rage, dragging everything near them down. The Fangs had seen both. This one, though, slipped eastward on strong haunches, chasing the thin line of a future he might yet claim.
He let the silence sit a beat before he answered, voice low, flat in its honesty. “Can’t promise it. Out here, nothing’s certain. A bad storm, a broken leg, another predator—it doesn’t take much..” He exhaled, fog curling. “But he’s got fight in him. Smarter than most, and not mean the way the other one was. I’ve got hope for him.” His mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile, but something close. “Maybe we’ll see him again someday, if we’re lucky.”
He turned toward her then, broad frame angling into the faint silver of dawn. His dark eyes softened as he met hers. “Thank you for coming. I know it wasn’t easy.” His hand brushed against her arm, steady and warm even through layers. A pause, his voice dropping rougher. “I’m sorry for the scare. Going down, we’ll take it slower. Careful.”
He cast one last look toward the faint silhouette slipping eastward, and said simply, “Here’s hoping he makes it.”
The peaks stood silent around them, the wind tugging their cloaks, the horizon bleeding from black into ashen light. Below, the cat kept moving—alone now, but not undone. Nature didn’t mourn like men did; it bent, broke, and sometimes remade itself sharper. Some beasts adapted, carved out new ground from old grief. Others collapsed into hunger and rage, dragging everything near them down. The Fangs had seen both. This one, though, slipped eastward on strong haunches, chasing the thin line of a future he might yet claim.
fin
