your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Flora’s grin widens as Koa smirks, and if she notices the flush at his ears, she’s gracious enough not to say anything, though it sparkles in her eyes like it wants to be teased. Instead, she cringes theatrically at the mental image. "Ugh, don’t. Now I’m picturing them with, like, ten legs, buzzing into my brain the way Vox used to."
She’s still halfway through a faux shudder when Koa lunges. His hand strikes hers with more confidence than she expected—or maybe just less hesitation—and the dagger tumbles from her grip, clattering once against the rock before skidding off to the side. She lets it fall, lets herself laugh, bright and delighted and full of challenge.
"Oh noooo," she calls, clearly not even trying to sound convincing, as she darts forward—not at him, but around him, the way she used to in their old, ridiculous races through the Wildwood. Her boots kick up dust, curls flying behind her, and she flashes him a sly glance over her shoulder just as her hand lifts. With a flick of her fingers, the feather-dagger hurtles back toward her palm like a summoned bird, As it does, Flora angles her body just right, a breath ahead of its return path, aiming for the arc of it to pass close enough to nick Koa's side. Or, if he’s clever—and of course he is—for him to dodge.
"Just as deadly when they aren't in my hands," she calls with a laugh.
1/4
She’s still halfway through a faux shudder when Koa lunges. His hand strikes hers with more confidence than she expected—or maybe just less hesitation—and the dagger tumbles from her grip, clattering once against the rock before skidding off to the side. She lets it fall, lets herself laugh, bright and delighted and full of challenge.
"Oh noooo," she calls, clearly not even trying to sound convincing, as she darts forward—not at him, but around him, the way she used to in their old, ridiculous races through the Wildwood. Her boots kick up dust, curls flying behind her, and she flashes him a sly glance over her shoulder just as her hand lifts. With a flick of her fingers, the feather-dagger hurtles back toward her palm like a summoned bird, As it does, Flora angles her body just right, a breath ahead of its return path, aiming for the arc of it to pass close enough to nick Koa's side. Or, if he’s clever—and of course he is—for him to dodge.
"Just as deadly when they aren't in my hands," she calls with a laugh.
1/4
