aut_nihil | (no subject)

The daemons take up resources that sometimes the group just doesn't have to spare, it makes the hunger greater. So the dogs are the first thing to go. Everything the dogs could do, Pope tells them, the daemons will do instead.

Even though it means greater risk to each person, orders are orders.

He's fair, though. He sends Elidi out to scout ahead for his boys and girls, he sends her into the fray when there's a battle near enough to base to warrant it. He is still on the ground, he insists, even if as the commander he has to be kept apart from the fray.

Elidi can travel farther from him than the other daemons do. This is because their bond has been tested and strained and tortured into something that can withstand the pain and the brain fog, and he insists he's going to train the rest of them to do it, too. Just as soon as they have a place stable enough to hold.

A place like the camp Elidi comes back and reports on, so he calls his leaders in to discuss. "It's not big but they've got walls. Thoughts?"

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Carver nods solemnly. This, he understands. There’s nothing but a razor edge between them and the dead now. They have to walk it carefully. “You won’t. We won’t let you down.”

Not when they’ve come far, fought so hard.

“Whatever you need me to do, it’s done.” He meets Pope’s eye again. “You know that, right?”

"That I do know." He claps a hand to Carver's shoulder. "Do you worry I don't see all the ways you fight and suffer for our people? Because I do. I see every time you bleed for us. Elidi sees it all, even when I'm not there."

On her perch, the great bird stretches her wings and tucks them back again, silent.

Edited 2023-07-14 03:28 (UTC)

It’s rare that Pope touches him in affection. Usually, it hurts. It almost hurts now, in an aching sort of way, but Carver presses into it, watching Pope even as Sila comes closer. Ears pricked forward. They did good, didn’t they?

“I know,” Carver agrees, though his throat is tight. It’s a blessing. Isn’t it? There’s always someone watching. “I don’t regret any of it, sir.”

He knows his praise can keep any one of his sons and daughters going for miles. He doles it out carefully though, and only when it's really, truly been earned.

He's seen Carver fail before. But this? This was a victory. So he smiles at him and chuckles. "No, and you shouldn't. You've climbed out of hell and come out stronger, haven't you? Yes, son, I made you to prevail."

“You made me strong,” Carver agrees. It took effort. What did he know when they started? Shit about shit. He was young and stupid but somehow he didn’t die. He hadn’t yet seen God, or understood the true cost of survival. But he did survive, in the end. He made it through. Pope and Shaw saw to that. “And we’ll make this place work. Whatever it takes.”

He nods slowly, and levels a gloved finger at him. "You see to it. I want to hear about anyone getting complacent. Getting too comfortable. You hear me?"

Carver stands up straighter. "Yes, sir. But we won't. You'll see."

They needed this, he thinks. Walls - even if it's only for a little while. Sila jumps up onto Carver's shoulder, digging her claws in. Watching Pope with her big cat eyes.

"We'll make this place strong."

He stares at Carver a moment, assessing him, and then he nods. "That'll be all. Get them out there hunting, quick as they can."

There's a moment - only a moment - where Carver thinks he's said the wrong thing. Failed some unspoken test that Pope put to him and Sila. But then why praise him, give him more responsibilities?

No. They're okay. And they're going to hold this place through the winter.

"I will," he promises. "Fortitudo salutis."

He won't fail.