Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
“A feathered, bird, goat thing.” She repeated, her mind her brain, struggling to come up with the image. She certainly hadn’t seen anything like that before, even with all the sightings of bizarre flora and fauna – bird faces and ram horns aside. The fact that hunting it would prove some use, other than meat, extended a well-anointed nod, medicinal properties embedded somewhere between their weird configurations.
“Lead on then,” the youth exchanged, a smirk still there, forthright, half-menace, half-mischief, and a self-assured poise in her steps. Fangorn bounded behind her, a bit quieter due to the foretold necessities of felling these creatures, while Melita carefully chose an arrow from her quiver. No flames shot from this particular armament though; and she caught the briefest sizzle, the slightest crackle, a snapping, sparking sound on its flinty, gilded edges. The ruffian grin turned all the more daring, a promise, a conviction unraveling through her senses. “Sure.” She’d treat it like a deer. She’d treat it like anything else destined to and for oblivion.
“Lead on then,” the youth exchanged, a smirk still there, forthright, half-menace, half-mischief, and a self-assured poise in her steps. Fangorn bounded behind her, a bit quieter due to the foretold necessities of felling these creatures, while Melita carefully chose an arrow from her quiver. No flames shot from this particular armament though; and she caught the briefest sizzle, the slightest crackle, a snapping, sparking sound on its flinty, gilded edges. The ruffian grin turned all the more daring, a promise, a conviction unraveling through her senses. “Sure.” She’d treat it like a deer. She’d treat it like anything else destined to and for oblivion.
Melita
