but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
The training grounds provided her the perfect opportunity to hone her skills. The honeybee child regularly hunted and honed precision with her bow, but not in such a grand space especially marked and chiseled for this purpose. She enjoyed the further challenge of settling in amongst the realm around dusk; lighting a few lanterns to provide some designated light, but otherwise attempting her endeavors under the cover of thickening darkness. Monsters weren’t always going to come out at the light of day.
While Fangorn watched on, she breathed, extending the taut, drawn string of the bow, listening to it straighten and contort, waiting for her inevitable release. Her arm didn’t scream, her muscles didn’t ache; normalcy, strong and mighty, ready to unfold and unfurl for whatever damned thing came next. Then she let go, listening for the solid thwack of the arrow hitting the target – as it whacked somewhere near the middle. Not enough, and she narrowed her eyes, speculating, examining, scrutinizing, grabbing hold of another from her quiver and embarking once more.
While Fangorn watched on, she breathed, extending the taut, drawn string of the bow, listening to it straighten and contort, waiting for her inevitable release. Her arm didn’t scream, her muscles didn’t ache; normalcy, strong and mighty, ready to unfold and unfurl for whatever damned thing came next. Then she let go, listening for the solid thwack of the arrow hitting the target – as it whacked somewhere near the middle. Not enough, and she narrowed her eyes, speculating, examining, scrutinizing, grabbing hold of another from her quiver and embarking once more.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
