Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
“Mhm.” Which was a response laden with mischief, as she gave no other indication of what her companion thought, immersed, or fixed between bonds. “It’s a connection. They’re always in your mind.” And perhaps vice versa, when her emotions ran rampantly, in their mercurial, tempestuous, blistering might, the little pumpkin was there, trying his damned best in a world of might and demolition. “He once helped us fight against a massive gourd laden with the blight.” And for that notion alone, she dipped down to grant him several scratches, and a purr ensued.
But then, back to business. At the never done this before semblance, the youth shrugged. “You only get to use that excuse once.” Then maneuvered on, watching, noting, as Aurelia placed herself as Melita had instructed, and then the youth nodded, tilting her head, studying, scrutinizing. “Now you take back the string.”
She demonstrated once more, resuming her stance, holding the bow before her, and then drawing back the strand. It required far more strength, fortitude, and prowess than one might imagine, and she waited until the other woman had adhered to the motions again. “When you’re aiming, don’t use the end of the bow. You use your eye. The arrow will follow.” Of course, she hadn’t actually handed one over to the fellow smuggler yet; not so trusting, not so bold, in the first few moments of training. “When you think you’re ready, release it. Be careful, because it’ll likely skim over the skin of your arm.” Her gaze went to a few bracers she had left in her container of items, but she figured she’d let Aurelia test it first. “You’ll get an arrow when you can show me you won’t maim yourself.” A cheeky grin flickered and followed, and then she let go of her own – listened to the residual snap of its liberation, the imagined volley of a flying weapon and armament snagging, spiraling, searing, through the air.
But then, back to business. At the never done this before semblance, the youth shrugged. “You only get to use that excuse once.” Then maneuvered on, watching, noting, as Aurelia placed herself as Melita had instructed, and then the youth nodded, tilting her head, studying, scrutinizing. “Now you take back the string.”
She demonstrated once more, resuming her stance, holding the bow before her, and then drawing back the strand. It required far more strength, fortitude, and prowess than one might imagine, and she waited until the other woman had adhered to the motions again. “When you’re aiming, don’t use the end of the bow. You use your eye. The arrow will follow.” Of course, she hadn’t actually handed one over to the fellow smuggler yet; not so trusting, not so bold, in the first few moments of training. “When you think you’re ready, release it. Be careful, because it’ll likely skim over the skin of your arm.” Her gaze went to a few bracers she had left in her container of items, but she figured she’d let Aurelia test it first. “You’ll get an arrow when you can show me you won’t maim yourself.” A cheeky grin flickered and followed, and then she let go of her own – listened to the residual snap of its liberation, the imagined volley of a flying weapon and armament snagging, spiraling, searing, through the air.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
