but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
The whistle curled across her ears, and she swung her head back to the nuance, to the sound, to the decibels, smiling when she realized who it was. “Thank you,” and a playful, mocking bow in return. Her eyes wandered, watching, waiting, to see what else he’d contorted and rippled through the training grounds, had assumed no one else would be amidst the evening. He grabbed hold of a cutlass, and she thought to return her attention to her bow, to the quiver, to the arrows waiting to be notched on strings, to be gathered and hurled into the wind.
Except he was challenging her, and her brow quirked. “I’m not familiar with that weapon.” Not on a quiver of anxiety or apprehension, but just blunt information. The Rift hadn’t had swords. They hadn’t hurled knives. She’d pieced together her desecration and revolutions with sticks, branches (hence her predilection towards staffs), rocks, stones hurtled into monsters and demons. But her curiosity was piqued, and she stretched along the earth, her bow disappearing back into her bracelet, Fangorn suddenly restless along the intervals. Her hands went to a matching wooden cutlass, hand enclosing over its pommel, pondering over its weight and fortitude. Her gilded eyes maneuvered back to him. “Would you teach me?”
Except he was challenging her, and her brow quirked. “I’m not familiar with that weapon.” Not on a quiver of anxiety or apprehension, but just blunt information. The Rift hadn’t had swords. They hadn’t hurled knives. She’d pieced together her desecration and revolutions with sticks, branches (hence her predilection towards staffs), rocks, stones hurtled into monsters and demons. But her curiosity was piqued, and she stretched along the earth, her bow disappearing back into her bracelet, Fangorn suddenly restless along the intervals. Her hands went to a matching wooden cutlass, hand enclosing over its pommel, pondering over its weight and fortitude. Her gilded eyes maneuvered back to him. “Would you teach me?”
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
