Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Melita had lived in too many worlds and too many lands to not explore; an inquiring mind, a vicious pursuit, an impetuous, glorified aptitude for antics, blunders, and heroics alike. Where this minor adventure would end up on the scale of stupidity was anyone’s guess; but it scarcely mattered to the emboldened honeybee.
Where all the creatures were heading to…her eyes glinted immediately to the potential throng of movement. Not Attuned, not capable of circumventing their thoughts or compelling them into motion, her own measures were haphazard and zealous, lurking closer to the edge and brim of the swamp. But Milo spotted frogs, and so she crouched, a little menacing glint to her eye as she stared back at him. The mischievous grins matched, and she prepared herself. “Excellent plan,” she noted, tying up the strands of her dress, and before she even had time to advance, Milo already had.
And she laughed, giggled, probably startling whatever animal remained, following straight into the damp, soused, sodden earth with little care. She sunk a little, but as a frog appeared before, striving to get the hell out of her range, she launched, hands grasping, tugging.
Bless, Fangorn just shook his head from the bank.
Where all the creatures were heading to…her eyes glinted immediately to the potential throng of movement. Not Attuned, not capable of circumventing their thoughts or compelling them into motion, her own measures were haphazard and zealous, lurking closer to the edge and brim of the swamp. But Milo spotted frogs, and so she crouched, a little menacing glint to her eye as she stared back at him. The mischievous grins matched, and she prepared herself. “Excellent plan,” she noted, tying up the strands of her dress, and before she even had time to advance, Milo already had.
And she laughed, giggled, probably startling whatever animal remained, following straight into the damp, soused, sodden earth with little care. She sunk a little, but as a frog appeared before, striving to get the hell out of her range, she launched, hands grasping, tugging.
Bless, Fangorn just shook his head from the bank.
I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
