your dreams are all full of war
you are from another time
“Yeah, and some have bones in ‘em,” adding to the commentary of Metacarpal Island, as if that were a normal thing to occur. And perhaps it was in Caido, where the unexpected was more of a standard procedure. you are from another time
But her attention meandered and focused on the whole Isla thing, since she’d hadn’t been privy to the brothel building (wouldn’t be interested anyway) nor infirmaries within the refuge. Perhaps there were modicums of layers left unsaid there, and she arched her brow at his response, waiting for the inevitable turn of relationship building or burning – and then nothing more. “Huh,” came on a breath, before she pushed another layer of ferns away from her ankles. Then she shrugged, unbothered by the outcome. “Good for her then.”
The pollen was weird, and made her nose curl. Fangorn sneezed again, and she clutched tighter onto the end of Sila’s tail. “Probably should expect something like that,” though grateful he could push all of the filaments back down. “Maybe its poisonous,” she offered, gesturing to the grains, though not at all alarmed.
salvation doesn't look like light
So what remains?
So what remains?
Melita
