to be lit up from within
vein by vein
“Fok jou you little piece of shit,” muttered and grumbled from her mouth, a series of curses and hisses strung out into the open as she freed her companion, but seemed to gain another all in the same stead. The pain languished down her calf as its fangs ripped into her flesh, and she fought to bring her staff upwards, and down upon the other gourd in a series of blows; no longer caring if they lived.Then they just had to flee, grabbing hold of Fangorn in her arms, uttering more and more biting statements and chords, fighting off the ridiculous amount of pain searing through her limping, gimping across to see to the others.
Samuel and the Fae seemed to have disappeared.
Then there was only Amalia, completely trapped and ensnared by the gourds’ vines. Any notion of escaping was gone, no intention of leaving her friend behind. Gasping, short of breath, the blinding, scathing, sinking weight of anguish biting into her form, the girl took her staff and intended to reach the baker – except her words floated over the abyss, and the cutting notion of not killing any of the ridiculous pumpkins snagged.
Because, gods knew she wanted to. Only Amalia’s directions, goals, aspirations, and her connection with Fangorn waylaid the possibility of absolute demolition. Gritting her teeth, locking her jaw, she nodded, grabbing hold of the Shield’s staff, two in her hand, though each devastatingly different, intending to heal herself and anyone else who needed it.
--
Melita attempts to hit the gourd still attached to her calf, grabs Fangorn and Amalia's staff, and attempts to heal herself.
to be the sun
MELITA
