knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
She waited; either to spring, to fight, or to impart something else altogether, a clockwork of tempestuous whims at her mercurial disposal. Torchline had served somewhat as a second cousin to the Rift: she was accustomed to the weight of danger, to the outline of treachery, to the besiege of irreverent, immoral tidings, had been chiseled, sculpted, and carved out of its soulless paradigms long before ever being exposed to sands and surf again. Strangers were prone to anything and everything, but her strength, her might, her menace, her bite, her howl was a glorious, illustrious thing too – rarely doubting her own capabilities.
But the shift in maelstroms didn’t come; the taller creature apologized, and asked about her paper, her pencils, her assortment of artistry, but not the renderings themselves. “Oh,” and she shrugged, some of the tension easing away from her form. Melita wasn’t quite so foolish as to drop her entire guard, but the measure of her words weren’t so agitated, vexed, or dipped in edges of fire, the brink of embers and cinders. “The marketplace, but the merchant is only there certain days.” Plus, what she hadn’t snagged for herself, she could easily pilfer from Sunjata’s quarters.
Had he wanted some? Her eyes went to the way he held the strap on his chest, palms itching for her own, tucked along one of the chairs. Thereafter, he only asked for her name, something she could afford to give and grant. “Melita. And yours?”
But the shift in maelstroms didn’t come; the taller creature apologized, and asked about her paper, her pencils, her assortment of artistry, but not the renderings themselves. “Oh,” and she shrugged, some of the tension easing away from her form. Melita wasn’t quite so foolish as to drop her entire guard, but the measure of her words weren’t so agitated, vexed, or dipped in edges of fire, the brink of embers and cinders. “The marketplace, but the merchant is only there certain days.” Plus, what she hadn’t snagged for herself, she could easily pilfer from Sunjata’s quarters.
Had he wanted some? Her eyes went to the way he held the strap on his chest, palms itching for her own, tucked along one of the chairs. Thereafter, he only asked for her name, something she could afford to give and grant. “Melita. And yours?”
Melita
