Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Oh – there it was. The finality and weight in the statement – leaving, departing, heeding in space and time. “Good,” she uttered, features still piercing and narrowed, as if yearning and itching for a fight where there wasn’t one to have any longer. Her teeth clicked together as her mouth shut, and she was left to simply accept it for what it was. Would Nate go back? Would he bother? Would anything change or alter?
Suddenly all she wanted to do was launch out into the sea, and let the breeze, the wind, take shape over the sails. Take them elsewhere, far, far beyond all these dramatic trials and tribulations, all these options and choices that could have gone so much better –
She kicked at the water and let it take hold of her in waves and ripples. “Weapons and memories,” she presided thereafter, a little mulishly, a little seditiously, a pout beginning to streamline across her mouth. Fangorn angled in after her, vines dragging or lifting, striving for an interim of peace that wasn’t going to last.
The notions of the Voice curled back over; semblances owed, fixing what Safrin had coiled over him – and maybe he could hold things together, but that depended on the rest of the people around him too. Is that working for you? she wanted to say., but held back. Knew better now.
The gods and their heralds could only heal or break so many things.
“Do you ever regret your choice?” Anymore? Like he used to – when Samuel had somehow persuaded and inveigled? Or was it a foregone conclusion?
Suddenly all she wanted to do was launch out into the sea, and let the breeze, the wind, take shape over the sails. Take them elsewhere, far, far beyond all these dramatic trials and tribulations, all these options and choices that could have gone so much better –
She kicked at the water and let it take hold of her in waves and ripples. “Weapons and memories,” she presided thereafter, a little mulishly, a little seditiously, a pout beginning to streamline across her mouth. Fangorn angled in after her, vines dragging or lifting, striving for an interim of peace that wasn’t going to last.
The notions of the Voice curled back over; semblances owed, fixing what Safrin had coiled over him – and maybe he could hold things together, but that depended on the rest of the people around him too. Is that working for you? she wanted to say., but held back. Knew better now.
The gods and their heralds could only heal or break so many things.
“Do you ever regret your choice?” Anymore? Like he used to – when Samuel had somehow persuaded and inveigled? Or was it a foregone conclusion?
Melita
