there's always a glimmer in those
Fangorn adhered to the dragon’s antics – far gentler and less imposing than Umbra, and so he took to rolling along the ground, tumbling here and there, under ferns and fronds, and into thicker foliage as some semblance of a hide and seek game. Manifestations of silliness and peace, rather than anything else jumbling inside their bones – snaking vines and wrapping them around stems so he became a part of the greater canvas.
Melita’s eyes went instinctively to the bees, though late in seasons for them, as they likely gathered up any remaining nectar, intent on their own survival as Deepfrost drew closer. She made a nod, a friendly little smile at the notions of this garden thriving despite the monsoons – the way Torchline always seemed to do. Tough, forbearing, quick-witted, and sharp; those were the entanglements of a life next to the sea.
Only on mentions of other things did the ember-flamed one draw her gaze back to the Madame, a smile still etching and rounding out the corners of her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t know you used the bow! It’s one of my favorites.” With the elements forged in her quiver, they were a maelstrom of her own making; an archer hellbent on anarchy when it seemed necessary. But on the other notions, she distracted herself, kneeling and crouching down along the soil with little care for stains of the terrain, hands neatly plucking at weeds. “That always seems to be the way,” was an idle statement – because naught ever seemed to remain easy. Even when it was supposed to be. “Anything really awful?”
Melita’s eyes went instinctively to the bees, though late in seasons for them, as they likely gathered up any remaining nectar, intent on their own survival as Deepfrost drew closer. She made a nod, a friendly little smile at the notions of this garden thriving despite the monsoons – the way Torchline always seemed to do. Tough, forbearing, quick-witted, and sharp; those were the entanglements of a life next to the sea.
Only on mentions of other things did the ember-flamed one draw her gaze back to the Madame, a smile still etching and rounding out the corners of her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t know you used the bow! It’s one of my favorites.” With the elements forged in her quiver, they were a maelstrom of her own making; an archer hellbent on anarchy when it seemed necessary. But on the other notions, she distracted herself, kneeling and crouching down along the soil with little care for stains of the terrain, hands neatly plucking at weeds. “That always seems to be the way,” was an idle statement – because naught ever seemed to remain easy. Even when it was supposed to be. “Anything really awful?”
who have been through the dark
MELITA
