a eulogy for roads untraveled

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

“That must be it,” she wrinkled her nose and considered; though honestly it seemed like Jack’s mind was always doing something. At least far more thought patterns and contorting than she’d ever committed to. He could have that lot in life.

Her eyes went to the horizon, following Seren’s trail of sight, smiling warmly at the ocean, at the waves, at the sea. “Not all of them. We had some issues with ghost whales a couple times. But we went to King’s End in the spring.” Which had been glorious to behold – beautiful, fertile fields, meadows upon meadows of flowers, rich and vibrant in hues. Her head turned back over her shoulder. “Do you sail a lot around Stormbreak?” It sounded as though the coasts would be difficult to maintain a boat around. Maybe she’d been wrong.

Healers though? Her considerations slid through, noted in the furrowing of her brows. “My uncle, Nate, has the Wren Society. Which is supposed to be for healers,” and dumbasses like herself, willing to help whenever needed. And when it wasn’t being burned down.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury