& if you never bleed you're never gonna grow
Flora only grins crookedly at the scream, the picture of unbothered delight, like she hadn’t just shimmered into existence in the middle of a shifting archipelago. "Hey you," she says with casual brightness, as if the whole thing were the most ordinary greeting in the world and not the cause of near cardiac arrest. A gold bangle slides down her wrist as she tips the feathered dagger idly between her fingers, watching Theea with a glint of approval.
When her cousin actually admits she wants pointers, Flora drifts to stand beside her, curls spilling forward as she leans in, conspiratorial. "I had loads of help when I first decided I wanted to get good at this," she admits, her grin softening the confession into something more like camaraderie than boasting. She holds out one of the feather blades for Theea to take, cool metal and poison sheen winking in the restless light. "Easier to practice with mine. They come back to you on their own—saves all that boring walking to collect them."
She nods toward the palm, aqua eyes bright. "And hey—you got them to stick. That’s half the battle. Making your grouping tighter?" She flashes a mischievous smile. "Easy peasy."
Tilting her head toward the tree, Flora gestures loosely with her empty hand. "Think of it like this: don’t throw with your whole arm. It isn’t about force—it’s about line. Keep your wrist straight, lead from your elbow, and let the weight of the blade carry itself. You’re guiding, not muscling it." She demonstrates the motion slowly once, the dagger balanced perfectly along her fingers.
Then, without breaking stride in her explanation, she flicks another feathered knife free, a swift gleam in the air. It spins end over end, neat and unshowy, before sinking into the palm with a satisfying thunk, almost dead centre where the three crooked throws had marked their uneven row. With a smug little shrug, Flora glances back at her cousin. "See? Nothing to it. Now you go."
1/4
When her cousin actually admits she wants pointers, Flora drifts to stand beside her, curls spilling forward as she leans in, conspiratorial. "I had loads of help when I first decided I wanted to get good at this," she admits, her grin softening the confession into something more like camaraderie than boasting. She holds out one of the feather blades for Theea to take, cool metal and poison sheen winking in the restless light. "Easier to practice with mine. They come back to you on their own—saves all that boring walking to collect them."
She nods toward the palm, aqua eyes bright. "And hey—you got them to stick. That’s half the battle. Making your grouping tighter?" She flashes a mischievous smile. "Easy peasy."
Tilting her head toward the tree, Flora gestures loosely with her empty hand. "Think of it like this: don’t throw with your whole arm. It isn’t about force—it’s about line. Keep your wrist straight, lead from your elbow, and let the weight of the blade carry itself. You’re guiding, not muscling it." She demonstrates the motion slowly once, the dagger balanced perfectly along her fingers.
Then, without breaking stride in her explanation, she flicks another feathered knife free, a swift gleam in the air. It spins end over end, neat and unshowy, before sinking into the palm with a satisfying thunk, almost dead centre where the three crooked throws had marked their uneven row. With a smug little shrug, Flora glances back at her cousin. "See? Nothing to it. Now you go."
1/4
