MELITA
Ah, there, that was much better. She couldn’t help the grin igniting and enlightening over the depths of her mouth, curling slightly in a smug outlook that she’s certain he’d appreciate – no Gaal in her pathway, in her blood, all Melita, child of the scorching sun and the seething desert, come to claim anyone and everyone in her way.He lowered, brushing over snow and bushes, and she kept her sights tracking on him, on the rush of motion, on the strong pulse of blue upon blue (like the sea, like the ocean, like worlds she’d once harbored and harpooned). Closer, closer, loser, like a true test, if she can exact precision from these angles and lack of heights. Again, she placed and notched another blunted arrow, pulling the string tight, aiming, aiming, aiming, and then permitting it to fly.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
