Melita
Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down
to swallow the flame down
She could hear the pride in his voice, and having experienced, a decent amount of Stormbreak on her own, she couldn’t hold quite the same tone. “Yeah,” and that didn’t sound very impressed; because she’d been akin to the racism and ridiculousness of those high stone walls. “Helped get a relic there, once.” Also one of her uncles had been apart of the vicious onslaught in previous years (and died, came back, and died again), while the other had ferried multitudes there in the process. Good times. Trying to keep her mood neutral, and probably failing, she shrugged her shoulders. “How is it up in the sky all the time?”
Uncertain how thread could be constructed into armor (but considering she didn’t own any, maybe that was just a limitation of the youth’s imagination), she let the comment pass for rope. “Or cloth, maybe,” figuring all those layers could be construed into something worthwhile. She certainly didn’t have the skills for it, as demonstrated by her misshapen dress attempts last season. And the blood all over it.
“We have wine spiders,” but not this shit. “But they’re pretty harmless.” She wasn’t certain about these arachnids, other than being really fucking annoying. Or that she’d hit some with a cannon for fun.
As for the training grounds…her eyes swept over them, fingers peeling away at the top of a makeshift bullseye. “Oh. Um. I made this.” Construction also wasn’t in her finest of arts – considering the misshapen effigies, targets, rock pillars, and some sideways, askew, either from prior attempts or that they managed to stay upright that way.
Uncertain how thread could be constructed into armor (but considering she didn’t own any, maybe that was just a limitation of the youth’s imagination), she let the comment pass for rope. “Or cloth, maybe,” figuring all those layers could be construed into something worthwhile. She certainly didn’t have the skills for it, as demonstrated by her misshapen dress attempts last season. And the blood all over it.
“We have wine spiders,” but not this shit. “But they’re pretty harmless.” She wasn’t certain about these arachnids, other than being really fucking annoying. Or that she’d hit some with a cannon for fun.
As for the training grounds…her eyes swept over them, fingers peeling away at the top of a makeshift bullseye. “Oh. Um. I made this.” Construction also wasn’t in her finest of arts – considering the misshapen effigies, targets, rock pillars, and some sideways, askew, either from prior attempts or that they managed to stay upright that way.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun
to be the sun
