Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Gauging threats had unfortunately come with the territory of losing her family at a young age; to the point where she was almost always ready and eager for a fight. Threats, bedlams, chaos, and mayhem was a song in her veins, which sometimes ended disastrously or monstrously in her favor. If anything, perhaps, more people should’ve feared her; for all the emboldened, audacious, and tumultuous properties. Or they learned soon enough, given the opportunity.
Finding no reason to snarl, except some excuse she was bound to make up on a capricious and mercurial whim, the youth turned her attention back to the little tree. The intonations and inquiry thereafter though, left her wondering if poor Fangorn was going to be the subject matter of hostility (again), and she set her jaw in some manner of defiance. “A vampire gourd.”
Finding no reason to snarl, except some excuse she was bound to make up on a capricious and mercurial whim, the youth turned her attention back to the little tree. The intonations and inquiry thereafter though, left her wondering if poor Fangorn was going to be the subject matter of hostility (again), and she set her jaw in some manner of defiance. “A vampire gourd.”
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
