Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Somewhere in the midst of her addled brain she registered with Remi by way of explanation – perhaps Mort’s demigod had heard of Zavien’s death through his means and measures. She could hear his hiss though, and didn’t bother billowing in it – if he wanted to lecture, she wasn’t certain how much would even enter her mind right now.
Her brows furrowed as he took out a feather – not realizing he’d ever had it, or what it did. “What-,” was all she managed to spout, before witnessing him place it upon Zavien’s very cold, very still, very dead chest. “What is that?” The light works of the feather, she meant, or perhaps, the blinding white snow and the odd footprints she thought she’d seen – glimmers of confusion, maybe, in the midst of so much happening.
Her brows furrowed as he took out a feather – not realizing he’d ever had it, or what it did. “What-,” was all she managed to spout, before witnessing him place it upon Zavien’s very cold, very still, very dead chest. “What is that?” The light works of the feather, she meant, or perhaps, the blinding white snow and the odd footprints she thought she’d seen – glimmers of confusion, maybe, in the midst of so much happening.
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
