but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Did it count as being a wanderer, an adventurer, when she’d been forced out of her home, and endured treacherous things to survive in other worlds? She shrugged, an impish tilt to her smile. “I can pull my weight.” Always had been willing to work, sometimes not as effectively as she could, driven by impulse, but also compassion and the feeling, the need, to help and assist. The notions had entangled and wrapped themselves around her mind long before the Rift or Caido, pressing their wake into her soul with her mother’s herbs and kindness to everyone she met. Only the select few Melita had sifted and shifted into adversary territory weren’t permitted her assistance. “I can be rowdy too,” she wrinkled her nose, an indication of mischief, but no further explanation. She’d handle herself just fine. The weapons at her back and along her belt could tell infinite stories.
At his suggestion, her eyes went to another bunk adorned in the particular way. “That would be nice.” Perhaps the only notion of privacy they received; all living together in the same sanction, day in and day out.
At his suggestion, her eyes went to another bunk adorned in the particular way. “That would be nice.” Perhaps the only notion of privacy they received; all living together in the same sanction, day in and day out.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
