ISKRA
One of the things he likes about Halo is how straightforward its work is. Monotonous in some ways, maybe, woodcutting, but there's a desire for routine that this fulfills, and he gets all the excitement he needs from his time with Mel. The simplicity of relying on his strength, of keeping his head with the wilds around him, coupled with the swift correction of the cold any time he might grow forgetful or too brazen, and Iskra has found a nice give and take with this place.
The steadiness of this task—clearing the road, providing warmth and light for the impending Longnight, carting it around to people in need, it's a helpful and worthy pursuit in all the ways he has so often felt he isn't. He can see the work being done, from the tree being stripped to size, to the way their sleds empty, which is more fulfilling than paperwork could ever be.
Smiling after Deimos as they continue on, the bark well understood, Iskra mulls over the job as they move onto the bakery. "This one I don't know," he admits, looking up at the sign. "I always go to the bakery on the other side. Closer to my house." He sets his sled's line down and starts to pile the wood in his arms while Deimos gets it in his mouth and stacks it up. Iskra sets his down piece by piece, making a small pyramid of it out of his arms until his sled is fully empty. "Think I'll have to give them a try," he considers, dusting the bits of wood off his hands and coat.
"C'mon, I'll help you finish up your sled and then we'll come back here for a treat." He knows fully well there's no need to twist the Sword's arm for that offer, and so he hurries down the lane alongside the Hellhound to finish their job for now, snacks awaiting, and he's as content as ever.
[FIN]
The steadiness of this task—clearing the road, providing warmth and light for the impending Longnight, carting it around to people in need, it's a helpful and worthy pursuit in all the ways he has so often felt he isn't. He can see the work being done, from the tree being stripped to size, to the way their sleds empty, which is more fulfilling than paperwork could ever be.
Smiling after Deimos as they continue on, the bark well understood, Iskra mulls over the job as they move onto the bakery. "This one I don't know," he admits, looking up at the sign. "I always go to the bakery on the other side. Closer to my house." He sets his sled's line down and starts to pile the wood in his arms while Deimos gets it in his mouth and stacks it up. Iskra sets his down piece by piece, making a small pyramid of it out of his arms until his sled is fully empty. "Think I'll have to give them a try," he considers, dusting the bits of wood off his hands and coat.
"C'mon, I'll help you finish up your sled and then we'll come back here for a treat." He knows fully well there's no need to twist the Sword's arm for that offer, and so he hurries down the lane alongside the Hellhound to finish their job for now, snacks awaiting, and he's as content as ever.
[FIN]
Swinging my axe, instead of sleeping
Swinging my axe, my splinters are bleeding
Swinging my axe, these cuts are too deep and I feel like I’m freezing
Swinging my axe, my splinters are bleeding
Swinging my axe, these cuts are too deep and I feel like I’m freezing
