melita
She could hear him running and rambling through the jungle; and soon she’d lost all essence of what they’d been there for in the first place; mind consumed by the provocation, by the need to win. A mercurial, whimsical, capricious exercise and interlude, sweeping through the undergrowth as he called back, snagging at something. Her mind wasn’t unlike the wake of its consuming abyss when battle broke; buzzing, analytical, thriving on muscle memory and impulse, the inherent goblin and crowd greed humming and churning at every beat of her pulse. Except this time instead of weapons in her hands, it was merely the avaricious glee never far away, thriving on the potential of victory and challenge.
She’d lost count of how many things he’d claimed to have found, hellbent on discovering and deciphering through the threshold of another peephole. When the next one was naught but empty, she huffed, listening to Fangorn call from several fronds over, as the vampire gourd had her back in all things stupefying or indulgent. Peering over a rock, she sighed with relief, scratching the pumpkin on the top of his head as she pried through the remaining offerings – a crimson leaf, a purple flower, and a series of acorns. It looked as though they’d been gathered by a child; certainly a youth like she’d once been would’ve hoarded these like delicate things, until her mother said there were more than plenty within their house.
Snagging at the flower, and deciding to place it within her hair, just behind her ear, she hummed, presuming herself triumphant. “All right, let’s see what you got!” She roared through the copses and groves, Sila uttering a low rumble to ensure he found where they’d been gathering; the Honeybee already going through her pockets.
salvation doesn't look like light
