we're always running scared but holding knives
Her curiosity is thoroughly doused as the fiery creature - a man, Isla notes as she watches him swan through the undergrowth - turns around to walk back towards her, and she recognises in him the features of the friend she's tried and failed to forget about. Hissing in a breath and retreating back into the leaves and vines, she's torn for a moment between storming into view and demanding to know why he always has to be where she is, and disappearing altogether.
The outrage burns on her tongue, though it's born from hurt rather than anger, and eventually the Ancient turns to lose herself back in the thicket of hidden trails and deadly flora of the island. She wants to blame him for being here, but for all she knows it's a complete coincidence, and after their last meeting, she has no intention of repeating the experience. The smell of salt on the breeze carries the smoke away soon enough, and she heads towards the shoreline so she can get the hell off this rock. Er, bone. Bone rock.
The outrage burns on her tongue, though it's born from hurt rather than anger, and eventually the Ancient turns to lose herself back in the thicket of hidden trails and deadly flora of the island. She wants to blame him for being here, but for all she knows it's a complete coincidence, and after their last meeting, she has no intention of repeating the experience. The smell of salt on the breeze carries the smoke away soon enough, and she heads towards the shoreline so she can get the hell off this rock. Er, bone. Bone rock.
Isla
