not everything is a poem

The Honeybee

I believe in holding grudges
I'll heal in hell

The arrow flew through to its target, but without the elemental portions, didn’t have as big of an impact as she might’ve liked. Huffing a sigh, she watched as the fin continued to glide underwater, though clearly agitated, as more unearthly screams shattered through the air. Some were distinct in a please, no! or outcries gods; her jaw clenched and she grabbed another armament from her quiver without so much as a second thought.

Notching it along her bow and taking in a breath, she listened, narrowing her eyes at her maneuvering and bristling target, as the Ancient spoke. “Oh,” she murmured, uncertain what to do with that information. Twice now she’d run into individuals who simply avoided her favored deity – Maea, and now Kiada – but it didn’t leave her to wonder what she’d do under the circumstances. “Would you ever go back then?” Perhaps, in such an amount of time and change occurring, she already knew the answer. But it wasn’t her job to convince the rest of the world to go sauntering forth towards the masked herald – and if they balked, so be it.

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

Melita