For her the cool-tongued, her the tranquil-hearted,
Whom evermore I follow wistfully
Whom evermore I follow wistfully
Atlas is the radar that pings the arrival of the wildfire girl into his bonded’s awareness. Mid-spin she slows, wet hair flying and caressing her neck and collarbones as the strands try in vain to continue their motion. Melita’s hair is not so vibrant when slick and wet against her crown, but her face is unmistakeable. Afternoons spent sparring, mornings passing each other in the kitchen with sleep-heavy greetings. She is as much family to Hotaru as to the men she has parted from, and she has no need to worry about her welcome.
“Melita,” she calls back, and gestures with one fine-boned hand for the girl to join her even as her own feet carry her a little closer. “It’s been...a hell of a season, huh? Just blowing off some steam if you want to join me.” An offering, free off obligation to talk about things when neither of them are the type. Action instead of rumination.
“Melita,” she calls back, and gestures with one fine-boned hand for the girl to join her even as her own feet carry her a little closer. “It’s been...a hell of a season, huh? Just blowing off some steam if you want to join me.” An offering, free off obligation to talk about things when neither of them are the type. Action instead of rumination.
through waters yet uncharted
HOTARU
