knew what she was doing when she invited the wild in
Nothing out of the ethers and vestiges; no trace of semblances, disasters, or ruins. It was a shame, really, when the youth had so dearly wanted to pluck and pull at information, striving to needle and convince. The measures had been ineffective, glanced off due to something like discomfort, and she shrugged it away. Unfortunate, because she didn’t have much to go off of Nate except personal experiences, which was fine, but the meddlesome, tempestuous portions to her craved more.
Sharing seemed to be the preferred mode, and the sharper, petulant, scarred edges of her wanted to refuse. To see what he would do if she disagreed outright. To irritate and nettle simply because she could. But Fangorn caught her eye, and she sighed, sweeping a piece of the poster-sized paper towards him. At least there’d be an exchange in it, a deal fortified. A slim piece of charcoal was given and granted too, and then she realized she hadn’t said anything at all. “Do you live in Torchline?” Easy, matter-of-fact, no need to dig any further; while she sketched out a name at the bottom of her drawing: Sunjata the Arm-Biter (because Zephele had said it once and it burned in her brain, made for a swift chuckle and snort).
Sharing seemed to be the preferred mode, and the sharper, petulant, scarred edges of her wanted to refuse. To see what he would do if she disagreed outright. To irritate and nettle simply because she could. But Fangorn caught her eye, and she sighed, sweeping a piece of the poster-sized paper towards him. At least there’d be an exchange in it, a deal fortified. A slim piece of charcoal was given and granted too, and then she realized she hadn’t said anything at all. “Do you live in Torchline?” Easy, matter-of-fact, no need to dig any further; while she sketched out a name at the bottom of her drawing: Sunjata the Arm-Biter (because Zephele had said it once and it burned in her brain, made for a swift chuckle and snort).
Melita
