melita
Melita managed to get them to the Peepholes in one piece, though not without its few frightening moments of ridiculous speed (that she didn’t blink an eye at) or the almost disastrous landing (again, too fast). Dusting off her hands and righting a few ropes, she hummed a little under her breath, content with both the wilderness and company.
She was very tempted to say something cheesy at his inquiry, but cast a feral grin instead as they disembarked, loosening Fangorn from her hold and watching the pumpkin roll into the vicinity. “Anything,” she remarked. “Last time I was here I didn’t get to do much.” Her eyes flicked haphazardly towards the cave entrances all laden throughout moss and plants, the great mysteries lingering within, the potential for treasure or chaos. She wouldn’t even mind finding something as simple as rocks, or another one of those eggs, eager to pocket some sort of souvenir from wayward lands. And grateful, perhaps, for the potential to unravel out here, instead of stuffed away in stones and buildings.
She had tried to look moderately presentable today – in a sundress that would inevitably get some sort of dirt or blood on it (but it had pockets), hair only slightly tousled until the humidity got ahold of it. Sending Sila ahead to scout, she watched as the dragon intentionally dipped lower, towards Goose, before winding back up over pockets of warm, thermal air, then whipped her gaze back Iskra’s way. The Honeybee had given him a once-over, in eager approval given her gaze, before they’d taken off, but gave him another rapt appraisal and a smug grin before maneuvering onward, gaze briefly on the pack, then pretending it hadn’t been at all. “What about you?”
salvation doesn't look like light
