Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
The response had her give a short bark of a laugh; more or less because the life lesson hadn’t come soon enough. Not before a thousand other consequences. If he was learning now, after everything else, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so fractious and bitter. So she heaved a sigh at the response, considering the weight of those factors, of how Nate might’ve responded. “And what did he say?” There were nettles and thorns embedded there too, after curses and occurrences, after livelihoods rendered disastrous and muddled. The honeybee was grateful, once more, for her ties to Ludo, and a different range, course, of expectations embedded within.
Thereafter though, it was all action and movement. An inward growl came unrelenting, bound along her jaw, as she missed the impact (which was a shame, because she’d been waiting a long time to punch him in the face). It glanced off and left her with nothing except a shorter distance, pivoting, turning, twisting out of his way. Lithe, limber, smaller, swifter, she’d long since been able to get herself out of these scraps by motion alone.
So while he missed her side, the wildfire youth aimed for his ribs, waiting to see how he defended, how she could sneak within.
Thereafter though, it was all action and movement. An inward growl came unrelenting, bound along her jaw, as she missed the impact (which was a shame, because she’d been waiting a long time to punch him in the face). It glanced off and left her with nothing except a shorter distance, pivoting, turning, twisting out of his way. Lithe, limber, smaller, swifter, she’d long since been able to get herself out of these scraps by motion alone.
So while he missed her side, the wildfire youth aimed for his ribs, waiting to see how he defended, how she could sneak within.
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
