Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
It felt like she was standing amidst a parlor of ghosts. Like Nate’s, possibly hovering over his jacket, lingering near to see if she was willing to forgive, and understanding even if she wasn’t. He’d always been that way, in the notions that Sunjata hadn’t. The rest of the wraiths collected and clustered near her shoulders, every mark, every wound, every inward trace of rancor stitched tightly into her muscles and bones. At her fingers clutching tongs and plates and utensils, in the tense feathering of her jaw, silently, trying to find something to cling to.
Her gaze dropped to Fangorn greedily accepting his portions from her outstretched palm as she crouched, and then to Sila. Sunjata’s transformation didn’t seem to help – if anything, perhaps he was seen as stronger, commanding, demanding, in the youth’s worldview, and she curled further around the Honeybee’s ankles. “It’s okay,” she murmured, extending the wake of meat to the companion instead, and watching as she scooted closer to the gourd – freeing Melita from scales and tails. “Thank you,” because she was – even if all the fire in her heart seemed to be aimed at nothing at all.
Nodding then, the Accepted snagged at the potatoes and vegetables, inclining towards the table, pulling out a chair for herself. She didn’t even know where to start, save for glaring at Nate’s coat, and then rounding out to cutting up portions of the steak with her knife – dangerous in her grasp given any situation. “So,” she started, wrinkling her nose at her plate for want of something to say. A part of her nearly relished the discomfort, but only if it applied solely to the Flood. “What have you been up to?”
Her gaze dropped to Fangorn greedily accepting his portions from her outstretched palm as she crouched, and then to Sila. Sunjata’s transformation didn’t seem to help – if anything, perhaps he was seen as stronger, commanding, demanding, in the youth’s worldview, and she curled further around the Honeybee’s ankles. “It’s okay,” she murmured, extending the wake of meat to the companion instead, and watching as she scooted closer to the gourd – freeing Melita from scales and tails. “Thank you,” because she was – even if all the fire in her heart seemed to be aimed at nothing at all.
Nodding then, the Accepted snagged at the potatoes and vegetables, inclining towards the table, pulling out a chair for herself. She didn’t even know where to start, save for glaring at Nate’s coat, and then rounding out to cutting up portions of the steak with her knife – dangerous in her grasp given any situation. “So,” she started, wrinkling her nose at her plate for want of something to say. A part of her nearly relished the discomfort, but only if it applied solely to the Flood. “What have you been up to?”
I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
