[se] scruff of the neck

The Honeybee

I believe in holding grudges
I'll heal in hell

Melita began a second, slightly smaller pile near the first, intending to make one massive inferno towards the end of their cleaning notions anyway. Tossing some more driftwood within its sanction, for quality kindling beyond Sila’s capable contortions, eventually she ceased when Noe started asking questions.

Which, fair, given the whole nature of the Metacarpal Island. “Could’ve been finger bones,” she suggested, shrugging. “They were inside the plants.” Continually weird to say out loud – for while Caido was inclined towards destructive tendencies, she didn’t know what it said about this particular isle itself; whether the flora attacked and seethed, or if something else had ensured filaments and structures were returned to the land. Albeit in a really, really creepy way.

Pay a little more attention to the healing power
of incandescent rage

Melita