Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Her brows furrowed at the insistent of something else, in between lines, and then the overt measures of things to lose, a taking away. And something told her it wasn’t just Haai. Was there trouble brewing elsewhere? Sunjata was prone to his paranoia, some justified, others confusing, and maybe she hadn’t been in the loop enough to understand or consider the weight of other machinations and measures plucked off. “What do you mean? Why would you lose your shifts?” They’d been a part of him for as long as she’d known him – varieties, blends, purposeful, meaningful, an attachment and adornment to his soul. Had she ever heard of anyone being stripped from those portions?
She didn’t need to wonder what it would do to him.
Swallowing down some other measure of emotion she couldn’t, didn’t, name, the honeybee took to the offer of training instead. Rising from the stone, and brushing away any dust from her fabric, her gilded gaze snapped back to his. “Sure.” If only because it’d be an opportunity to physically kick his ass. “Weapons or fists?”
She didn’t need to wonder what it would do to him.
Swallowing down some other measure of emotion she couldn’t, didn’t, name, the honeybee took to the offer of training instead. Rising from the stone, and brushing away any dust from her fabric, her gilded gaze snapped back to his. “Sure.” If only because it’d be an opportunity to physically kick his ass. “Weapons or fists?”
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
