Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Melita was usually game for anything to do with some semblance of violence, reasonable or not, so she was already nodding in agreement and accord, over storms, over shooting objects at things. “Sure. Seems like fun," she agreed with a smile that was a little too sharp. Making no mention of her experience, she already began selecting an arrow from her quiver, feeling the hastening of the icy element form and forge under her fingers, before quickly and expertly sliding it along the bow string. “I’m Melita.” Her eyes narrowed briefly, remembering a similar woman on a horse while she steered the Ark over…
And made no mention of it.
She listened instead to the mentions and possibilities, mind already rattling around the potentials. "If you want. Maybe we can do something with staffs?" It'd be easier - and the Honeybee was always prone to a little more practice with any manner of violence. "If you don't have one, we could find a big stick." Pulling her own armament out of her bag, she looked around, figuring there was bound to be something worthwhile and suitable nearby.
And made no mention of it.
She listened instead to the mentions and possibilities, mind already rattling around the potentials. "If you want. Maybe we can do something with staffs?" It'd be easier - and the Honeybee was always prone to a little more practice with any manner of violence. "If you don't have one, we could find a big stick." Pulling her own armament out of her bag, she looked around, figuring there was bound to be something worthwhile and suitable nearby.
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
