MELITA
Restlessness after her return from the Climb only led her further into the Slagveld’s reach; where she might be able to pummel things into submission, rather than pacing restlessly. A lily found, a lily placed, and then what? There’d been others there, collected, but not all the slots filled. Should she maneuver back towards the springs, and see if she could more? Were there other things she should’ve been doing to prepare, to repair, the workings of the onslaughts? A greater portion of her mind grew tired from the constant bombardments, but her body didn’t feel the same, churning back and forth, begging, aching, yearning for an outlet amidst frustrations and ineptitude. Her eyes had gone to the boxing gloves, mostly out of curiosity and not necessity; the youth had battered around without armor, without anything but flesh, bone, and mettle for some time. Any attention on the objects quickly dissipated by the arm suddenly around her shoulders, familiar and warm, and the remark, broadened by an individual that had been rendered healthy. Charmed and delighted out of her sulking haze, the youth turned into Nate, the favored uncle, a broadened smile returning, rekindling, the spirit reignited. “You sound much better!” Her hands went up and up, thinking to settle on his cheeks, but reaching for his ears instead, pinching them out of mischief, out of relief, out of good-natured abyss. The emotion were in a full swing, and she couldn’t quite handle them. Fangorn grumbled from somewhere on the sidelines, and she could feel a very instinctual gourd eyeroll.
The firecracker danced out of the way when his fist made to connect with her shoulder, tongue sticking out, immediately immature. “Aren’t I always?” Here? Looking for a fight? It could have fit both. “Are you going to give me one?” A menacing little grin settled on her mouth; the savagery sticking, inspired, invoked, now that Nate’s health had been restored.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
