we write out the ends on our palms, then forget to read
Flora watches Zavien’s movements with a little furrow of concentration forming between her brows, the frost still glittering faintly at her jawline like delicate paint. She nods slowly, catching the rhythm of his spin and the way the staff acts more like an extension of his arms than a separate weapon. "Okay," she murmurs, and glances toward Spice with a look that can only be described as challenging. The little dragon blinks once, then chirps as if accepting the dare. Flora exhales and plants her feet, wrists loosening, staff balanced. "Alright, Spice. Gimme what you got."
Obliging far too gleefully, the draconic sprite draws in a breath and exhales a ribbon of frost toward her. Flora begins to mimic the movement Zavien showed—staff spinning, arms shifting—but her rings bite cold against her fingers, bracelets rattle, and the oversized sweater bunches just enough at her elbow that she loses her grip.
Clatter.
The staff hits the ground with an unimpressive thunk, and the frost tickles up her chest again, ruffling her ponytail and stinging the edge of one ear. She blinks through the chill, then shoots Zavien a crooked, self-deprecating smile. "That one," she admits, nudging the staff with her boot, "might take some practicing."
3/4
Obliging far too gleefully, the draconic sprite draws in a breath and exhales a ribbon of frost toward her. Flora begins to mimic the movement Zavien showed—staff spinning, arms shifting—but her rings bite cold against her fingers, bracelets rattle, and the oversized sweater bunches just enough at her elbow that she loses her grip.
Clatter.
The staff hits the ground with an unimpressive thunk, and the frost tickles up her chest again, ruffling her ponytail and stinging the edge of one ear. She blinks through the chill, then shoots Zavien a crooked, self-deprecating smile. "That one," she admits, nudging the staff with her boot, "might take some practicing."
3/4
