melita
Her eyes immediately went to a hole nearby, covetous means already billowing through her mind. Even with the shape of Iskra’s fire lighting the way though, it was easy to see the first aperture held nothing but a vast quantity of dirt, and her greedy measures would have to be sated elsewhere. She glanced back up at him. “Gods, it was years ago. I think back when we were all hunting for relics, before that war.” An arms race scramble amidst jungles scruples and tasseled eaves; and naught to show for it. Rumors had gone about that others had snagged it though – where it was now, she had no idea, if it had even survived at all.
Half temped to shove him in return for the shoulder brushing, or up against a stone surface (difficult to tell when her mind went in a variety of places all at once), she opted for gazing at him, then along the scales of bronze ahead, Sila dipping low again to taunt the dog, then sweeping upon canopies Goose couldn’t touch. Fangorn, for his efforts, was already tracing portions with his vines, showing Melita various lichen and then placing them in his mouth in loud rumbles.
At the thought of the lore, legends, and rumors, the demigod shrugged, placing her bag higher on her shoulder. “See, I’d heard that if you don’t grab the shit, then it disappears,” like opportunities, gone in a flash if not taken, spells and notions that couldn’t return. Melita arched a brow, smile turning slightly feral at the thought. Maybe she just liked excuses for her impulsivity and boldness, very proud she let the ‘smash’ comment go by without making it lewd. “All right, what about that one then?” Pointing to another they’d come across – shallower, but a shallow pit nonetheless, maybe containing vast quantities of things.
salvation doesn't look like light
