Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
The ensuing encouragement was all she needed, stepping forth and forward, first to the blade, her hands wrapping around the hilt. As with all weapons, she immediately felt a kinship with the short sword, another extension, a part of her, to live and breathe and die with, meant to protect, meant to savor, meant to destroy. After a moment, she maneuvered it through the air, testing, deciphering its weight, arching a brow and segmenting the slightest of grins back to Sunjata, before delivering any verdict. “You, wrong?” Too many hints over instances where her uncle had embedded himself into disastrous, ridiculous schemes, tides, and marches, but she didn’t declare any now, not wishing to ruin the day.
Eventually, she nodded, bringing the glint of the blade back to her. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.” A portion of her already began to chime I don’t deserve it in the back of her mind, but she inhaled, exhaled, and let it flicker and die away, cinders and embers. “Let’s go carve.” The depths of her smile became impish, ruffian, a bit more rogue than intended, ducking around his frame, and back towards the ramphire.
Eventually, she nodded, bringing the glint of the blade back to her. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.” A portion of her already began to chime I don’t deserve it in the back of her mind, but she inhaled, exhaled, and let it flicker and die away, cinders and embers. “Let’s go carve.” The depths of her smile became impish, ruffian, a bit more rogue than intended, ducking around his frame, and back towards the ramphire.
Melita
