M E L I T A
Power, she thought, an echo to the juncture of Roana’s voice, beholding her core with a vigilant edge, centered in the glide of movement and motion. She could hear an emblem, a vow, in Fangorn’s thoughts too, quiet but persistent, a singular drone of consistent pushing, prodding, and she didn’t question it, but adhered to it, grasped, tethered to a line of force and persistence. She clenched her jaw and ground her heels into the earth, the light and ambience gone, replaced by the stirring of ferocity, the brimming of vehemence, the billowing effects of fury curling its mercurial, tempestuous glory in her veins.
Her arm was suddenly curled behind her, uncomfortable and unobliging. Her first instinct was to fight it off, to shimmy and shift away from the confining position – in the Rift, she would’ve grasped hold of anything in her reach, to howl and roar in her predators’ ears, to shove away the apprehension building in her figure, to escape, yielding not an option, liberation the only thing necessary, survival mode enhanced and vigilant. This wasn’t one of those moments – she could capture the nuances, control the machinations, bind the impulsive, impetuous notions seething and frothing their way through her mind; no singular movements, no broken motions. It had to be sinuous, gliding, one foot after another, like the way she raced down to streams, like the way she launched from branch to branch, built upon, sequenced. It made sense; she’d just never experienced it in the heat of battle, where she could grip a moment’s hesitation and make it her friends’ departures, their deliverance, their safety, their stronghold.
She was pushed forward, not hard, not rough, but just enough to stumble, to catch herself, to repeat the newfound refrain in her head – she breathed, inhaled, exhaled, and in a serpentine upheaval, pivoted, extended one leg in a feral, empowered, emboldened, side-swiping kick, intending to meet Roana’s ribs.
