Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
She managed a laugh at the first noted enemy – the captain of the Ark. “Jack?” Not a hint of surprise, considering the abrasive way they’d met – and she fought down the notion of raising her hackles again, pondering what had occurred to earn Nate as an adversary, a rival, a target for arrows. “What happened?” Curious really, to hear the range of pettiness, spite, and vitriol, uncertain where the lines were drawn, or if it magically related back to Sunjata again (and she wouldn’t be shocked or stunned by those parameters either). The other mentioned being remained a mystery – unknown and enigmatic, a twist of poignancy and pain. The uncertainty there might’ve been far more dangerous and treacherous – Jack was formidable, but so were shadows and daggers. She nodded, comprehending the worth and weight. “Are you going to try and find her?” And how?
If only they didn’t have to use weapons at all – but both of them knew better than that. Melita hadn’t grown up in the Rift only to believe there were no demons, no monsters, no humans that wouldn’t strive to become toxic, indulgent foes. Sometimes it depended on which side they chose to stand along. Sometimes it scarcely mattered; greed, avarice, and a blatant potency flowing through veins, cursing them to oblivion and treachery. Even if they could dream of a time where they wouldn’t be necessary, it seemed like a distant hope and haze.
But the honeybee youth managed to snort at his last reply, bending down to snag another arrow Fangorn had found, extending palms and fingers to scratch at the gourd’s head. She waved his concerns away; she was eager for adventure, for demolition, for an opportunity beyond these horizons. “Don’t waste your time worrying about me.” A grin embedded, infused, with mischief laden its way along her mouth, too much fire, too much vehemence. She could take care of herself - always had. “I’ll come back with all kinds of stories to make everyone jealous.”
If only they didn’t have to use weapons at all – but both of them knew better than that. Melita hadn’t grown up in the Rift only to believe there were no demons, no monsters, no humans that wouldn’t strive to become toxic, indulgent foes. Sometimes it depended on which side they chose to stand along. Sometimes it scarcely mattered; greed, avarice, and a blatant potency flowing through veins, cursing them to oblivion and treachery. Even if they could dream of a time where they wouldn’t be necessary, it seemed like a distant hope and haze.
But the honeybee youth managed to snort at his last reply, bending down to snag another arrow Fangorn had found, extending palms and fingers to scratch at the gourd’s head. She waved his concerns away; she was eager for adventure, for demolition, for an opportunity beyond these horizons. “Don’t waste your time worrying about me.” A grin embedded, infused, with mischief laden its way along her mouth, too much fire, too much vehemence. She could take care of herself - always had. “I’ll come back with all kinds of stories to make everyone jealous.”
Melita
