Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
The sand under her feet was warm and a balm; a rush to her senses as she ran across its surface, calling after her dragon, and looking back over her shoulder for her vampire gourd. Spirited and rampant, chaotic and frenetic, mercurial and capricious, boundless and never quite undone; the Honeybee was a diligent force across the beach as they searched for their prey.
“Flush ‘em!” She called to Sila, and the little bronze beast persisted, gliding along the salty, sea breeze, as the birds above flashed their brilliant bills and fabulous feathers. In reality, she’d only wanted some of the plumage for her arrows; but since they’d been harassing (existing) her companion, it was only fair they’d be consumed too.
From there, she drew her bow, narrowing her sights upon the beasts – moving targets, a practice in precision.
“Flush ‘em!” She called to Sila, and the little bronze beast persisted, gliding along the salty, sea breeze, as the birds above flashed their brilliant bills and fabulous feathers. In reality, she’d only wanted some of the plumage for her arrows; but since they’d been harassing (existing) her companion, it was only fair they’d be consumed too.
From there, she drew her bow, narrowing her sights upon the beasts – moving targets, a practice in precision.
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
