to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
A sigh flickered through her, perhaps the first sign of her exhaustion, of her fatigue, in the run around. It wasn’t the same as those who were sick, and she wouldn’t compare herself to their ailment and affliction, but gods, when there was no end in sight, it only further amplified the weariness building in her veins. “Yeah…Sam bit Remi, and it was a mess.” A frown followed, and there was temptation in an eyeroll, but her gaze remained a resilient thing, caught amongst and amidst the throes of chaos. Bedlam was an unfortunate normalcy in her life. The offer Oliver extended was sweet, and she’d pay back its worth. “Thank you.”
And her feet began to wander, began to loom, trekking further down the shoreline with her lantern light, just in case, pausing while Oliver made his offering. Maybe it seemed insignificant, with everything else pummeling down around them, but at least it was something out of the haze. Fangorn grumbled an incoherent message, and she reached down into a crouch to scratch at his head, listening to the blacksmith.
In truth, she hadn’t gone to any of the gods for guidance. With the Ascended sick, it wasn’t like the blight, and had she wandered towards Ludo, she doubted the herald would’ve cared. It might’ve been overjoyed at the notion of the Voice’s clan fading away into nothingness. “Have you asked any of them?” Did anyone know what was going on, or were they all wandering around, blind and bewildered?
His words only reflected what the rest had likely been feeling – a certain aching hopelessness, hope dimming, outlined in fading aspects. “We’ll…we’ll find something.” Perhaps the tight, light smile would buoy some confidence, because she could feel herself faltering too. “And we’d all be willing to help.”
And her feet began to wander, began to loom, trekking further down the shoreline with her lantern light, just in case, pausing while Oliver made his offering. Maybe it seemed insignificant, with everything else pummeling down around them, but at least it was something out of the haze. Fangorn grumbled an incoherent message, and she reached down into a crouch to scratch at his head, listening to the blacksmith.
In truth, she hadn’t gone to any of the gods for guidance. With the Ascended sick, it wasn’t like the blight, and had she wandered towards Ludo, she doubted the herald would’ve cared. It might’ve been overjoyed at the notion of the Voice’s clan fading away into nothingness. “Have you asked any of them?” Did anyone know what was going on, or were they all wandering around, blind and bewildered?
His words only reflected what the rest had likely been feeling – a certain aching hopelessness, hope dimming, outlined in fading aspects. “We’ll…we’ll find something.” Perhaps the tight, light smile would buoy some confidence, because she could feel herself faltering too. “And we’d all be willing to help.”
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
