Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
A swish, a flick, a jab, a stab; reeling notions of piercing connotations that might’ve been pinpointed in reality, had she had a tangible opponent. But there was no mortal enemy here, no Kiada to bind and burn, no ghost whale to harken over and maul; just the infinite sun, waves, sand, and pool, a comfortable retreat into the quiet, into the maneuvering of her blade.
Save for a voice carrying over the wind.
Her sharpened eyes flickered, caustic and treacherous, riveting towards sources, uncertain of who called her name along the reaches of embankments and capricious breezes. It took more than a few moments for her mind to catch up with distant hazes of memories and recollections, where seasons cycled into undulations of ships, rather than the broadened reach of the Grounds. The familiar golden locks eventually clambered together in the pockets of her skull, and she could recall, retain, the spirited instances of Aisha and her cutlass – instantly a welcome surprise.
The inclination of her features towards irritation immediately drifted away, mercurial and capricious, driven straight back into amusements and the art of danger. The other woman had been plenty skilled in her craft; it would’ve been foolish for Melita to pass up the opportunity. And while she was prone to embedding herself in exactly those confines, it wasn’t within the realms of learning armaments and weaponry. “Aisha!” She called in return, a wave as she approached and advanced; Fangorn opening one eye before deciding not to bother. “Absolutely! I’ll take any pointers you have!” A reunion of might and will and spirit then – brandishing her sword once more, allowing for the potential of siege and defense.
Save for a voice carrying over the wind.
Her sharpened eyes flickered, caustic and treacherous, riveting towards sources, uncertain of who called her name along the reaches of embankments and capricious breezes. It took more than a few moments for her mind to catch up with distant hazes of memories and recollections, where seasons cycled into undulations of ships, rather than the broadened reach of the Grounds. The familiar golden locks eventually clambered together in the pockets of her skull, and she could recall, retain, the spirited instances of Aisha and her cutlass – instantly a welcome surprise.
The inclination of her features towards irritation immediately drifted away, mercurial and capricious, driven straight back into amusements and the art of danger. The other woman had been plenty skilled in her craft; it would’ve been foolish for Melita to pass up the opportunity. And while she was prone to embedding herself in exactly those confines, it wasn’t within the realms of learning armaments and weaponry. “Aisha!” She called in return, a wave as she approached and advanced; Fangorn opening one eye before deciding not to bother. “Absolutely! I’ll take any pointers you have!” A reunion of might and will and spirit then – brandishing her sword once more, allowing for the potential of siege and defense.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
