but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Maybe she was a fool. But that had never stopped her before.
A deep, deep inhalation of air curled through her lungs, and then back out in a long, swindling breath, advancing across docks, eyes keen, tracing over the foundations of ships, of vessels meant for the sea. The bag over her shoulder carried her belongings, gifts and trinkets, a tapestry of dragons, of homelands and birthrights, and the weapons she couldn’t fit on her person. Her quiver settled along there too, beckoning at her back, her bow tucked carefully into her bracelet, her staff along her waist, her daggers drawn somewhere along her thighs, under yards of fabric. Everything else was cut and dry, gone; no regrets, no remorse, no weight of loss.
A moment to move forward, and not to look back.
Fangorn uttered nothing as they crossed along wooden boards, as they peered around boats. Everything was unfamiliar, and while her curiosity stoked, kindled, and unfurled, a portion of apprehension guided her along too. If it was a mistake, if she’d heard wrong, if they would refuse her, if the offering was no longer on the table –
She clenched her jaw, gritted her teeth, and persisted, until finally, her stare rummaged to the Ark. Her eyes lifted, lifted, lifted, drawn to the scale of her might, of her beauty, of her wares, wonders beheld in their effervescent glow. Impulsive, rash, and entirely emboldened, her strong voice reached, scaled, and scalded, below the ship’s depths. “I’m here for a job!”
A deep, deep inhalation of air curled through her lungs, and then back out in a long, swindling breath, advancing across docks, eyes keen, tracing over the foundations of ships, of vessels meant for the sea. The bag over her shoulder carried her belongings, gifts and trinkets, a tapestry of dragons, of homelands and birthrights, and the weapons she couldn’t fit on her person. Her quiver settled along there too, beckoning at her back, her bow tucked carefully into her bracelet, her staff along her waist, her daggers drawn somewhere along her thighs, under yards of fabric. Everything else was cut and dry, gone; no regrets, no remorse, no weight of loss.
A moment to move forward, and not to look back.
Fangorn uttered nothing as they crossed along wooden boards, as they peered around boats. Everything was unfamiliar, and while her curiosity stoked, kindled, and unfurled, a portion of apprehension guided her along too. If it was a mistake, if she’d heard wrong, if they would refuse her, if the offering was no longer on the table –
She clenched her jaw, gritted her teeth, and persisted, until finally, her stare rummaged to the Ark. Her eyes lifted, lifted, lifted, drawn to the scale of her might, of her beauty, of her wares, wonders beheld in their effervescent glow. Impulsive, rash, and entirely emboldened, her strong voice reached, scaled, and scalded, below the ship’s depths. “I’m here for a job!”
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
