a little violence as a treat

your dreams are all full of war
you are from another time

For the squirrel’s part, even with its amiable nature, it seemed to sense fire was not good, and twisted back to its brethren. Even then though, it must have felt some affectionate or diabolical pull, for Melita was never certain which way it went with the little rodent bastards, because they turned a corner and still kept up the antics. Follow me! echoed on a throng, tails twisting back and forth as they seemed to find deciding a great difficulty.

She turned her attention back to the Ancient though, a wry grin tucking itself in the corners of her mouth. “A snack, huh?” presuming the insinuation was that he’d be munching on something hunted and raw, taken and snagged from the makeshift labyrinth before making his way home. “Well, the squirrels might give you some. If they don’t fuck off.”

Swinging her legs back and forth again, highly amused and on the edge of determining maelstroms and bloodshed, she pocketed her dagger and the knotted string she’d been unraveling. “I was going to harass my uncle, but he’s busy. So, waiting it out.” Perhaps he could take that to mean she was all fervent and eager for destruction too.

salvation doesn't look like light
So what remains?

Melita