Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
Lena’s version of fighting had been amidst benevolence and kindness, the sort that endured in determination and stubborn, tenacious emblems of resolution. Up until a certain point in Stormbreak, under Dahlia’s control, it had worked – subversive, meaningful, but still, not enough for the power wielded from parasitic ventures.
Maybe these moments sprinkled within would help.
The ‘nicely done’ rang through her ears and she glanced at him again for further confirmation, before grinning, and then her brows furrowed back into concentration. She’d done some practice in blocking, but most had been instinctual endeavors, and she watched as she aimed a punch towards her. Eyes widening again, she placed her arms up as she’d been trained before, and lowered herself so that his fist would hit the broader side of her limbs rather than her stomach or chest. “Like that?”
Maybe these moments sprinkled within would help.
The ‘nicely done’ rang through her ears and she glanced at him again for further confirmation, before grinning, and then her brows furrowed back into concentration. She’d done some practice in blocking, but most had been instinctual endeavors, and she watched as she aimed a punch towards her. Eyes widening again, she placed her arms up as she’d been trained before, and lowered herself so that his fist would hit the broader side of her limbs rather than her stomach or chest. “Like that?”
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
