Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
After and after and after seemed to be a staple of her movements lately; but the course of meetings were now refined to nothing more than planting – and that much didn’t heed too many semblances of warnings. Instead, she took to the skies again on the Firecracker, listening to the quiet grumbles of Fangorn tucked away behind her, or Sila flying alongside. It was easier to glide amidst the clouds and treetops, rising over the desert plains, and face the wake of infestation from above.
There would be opportunities and chances to alter the course in the future; perhaps larger than this instant. But then the outreach of the Hollowed Grounds drew her attention for half a moment in consideration, for she frequently barely gave it that, but haunted figments still had a way of grasping hold somewhere in those laden bones of survival and nothingness. The Spire glinted and winked in the daylight, and her jaw clenched, wondering if she could hit it again, make it topple, make it come apart at the seams like they’d all wanted to years before. If it even mattered now, in the grand scheme of things, to rip it into rubble, ruins, and pieces, when all the other symbolic ends and races were gone.
Moving on, she turned along to portions she’d never seen – as they hadn’t existed before the war – pockets of isles and inlets. The tip nearly abutted some portions of void-clogged frames, so why not?
Though, she wouldn’t be alone.
She recognized the pale bout of hair the moment she lowered the skyship, beginning to wonder if it was a mistake. She and Maea hadn’t really talked in ages, buuuut the now Ancient might be able to answer some questions for her. Meh – worth a shot. “Hey Maea,” she waved from the sudden warbling of movement from the boat; landing it softly nearby. If she looked surprised by the decent landing, she didn’t address why, already beginning to climb out and grab hold of Fangorn as she did so. “You planting here too?” Or maybe not; perhaps she was intending to throw herself out to sea.
There would be opportunities and chances to alter the course in the future; perhaps larger than this instant. But then the outreach of the Hollowed Grounds drew her attention for half a moment in consideration, for she frequently barely gave it that, but haunted figments still had a way of grasping hold somewhere in those laden bones of survival and nothingness. The Spire glinted and winked in the daylight, and her jaw clenched, wondering if she could hit it again, make it topple, make it come apart at the seams like they’d all wanted to years before. If it even mattered now, in the grand scheme of things, to rip it into rubble, ruins, and pieces, when all the other symbolic ends and races were gone.
Moving on, she turned along to portions she’d never seen – as they hadn’t existed before the war – pockets of isles and inlets. The tip nearly abutted some portions of void-clogged frames, so why not?
Though, she wouldn’t be alone.
She recognized the pale bout of hair the moment she lowered the skyship, beginning to wonder if it was a mistake. She and Maea hadn’t really talked in ages, buuuut the now Ancient might be able to answer some questions for her. Meh – worth a shot. “Hey Maea,” she waved from the sudden warbling of movement from the boat; landing it softly nearby. If she looked surprised by the decent landing, she didn’t address why, already beginning to climb out and grab hold of Fangorn as she did so. “You planting here too?” Or maybe not; perhaps she was intending to throw herself out to sea.
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
