MILO
now they're standing in the door
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
singin' "that's my shit, that's my shit"
He tugs her along easily, until their hands part and Milo’s still guiding his summoned Hel to the injured one, luring it closer and closer until it hears Amalia’s words reach its mind. Milo can tell there’s a shift, a difference to it that makes it where his summoned Hel flies off in a random direction – red brows furrowing in a small amount of confusion at it, but dismissing it regardless as the injured Hel flits to Amalia’s arms.
“Nev’r seen that before.” He comments quietly, letting his hands drop to his sides, watching the Hel extend its wing out, cawing a pitiful squawking sound. They really should’ve left it for a cloud wyrm or a predator of sorts – but with the way it seemed to choose Amalia, he bites down on his tongue, so he doesn’t air his worries. “Lemme know what I can do.” He’s at a loss.
“Nev’r seen that before.” He comments quietly, letting his hands drop to his sides, watching the Hel extend its wing out, cawing a pitiful squawking sound. They really should’ve left it for a cloud wyrm or a predator of sorts – but with the way it seemed to choose Amalia, he bites down on his tongue, so he doesn’t air his worries. “Lemme know what I can do.” He’s at a loss.
that's what everybody wants an' some more
singing "you may be the death of me"
singing "you may be the death of me"
