a lion-hearted girl
The youth worked on the other limbs of the doll, meant to be hidden beneath the rags, intertwining more and more sand until distinct shapes were made, molded, taking form. She tied off the ends again, weaving the bows and strings into the fabric itself, beholding it for an instant more in quick perusals and studies, before the other notion, the other option, lingered in the air.She was instantly a rigid, contorted sprite, needling and thorning her way into the dune. Her jaw locked, and she said nothing at first – wiling and willing away the moments passing through her lungs, through her skull. That she didn’t immediately sneer showed some level of growth and understanding, that she didn’t suddenly burst into flame and vitriol a testament to self-control lingering within her bones. “I trust Nate, but I don’t trust her.” The stubborn, defiant set to her chin might’ve honored the animosity towards the Goddess; everyone was entitled to their own decisions, their own values, their own merits – but she’d never follow that figure’s. Another undulation of her shoulders, a shrug, and her gilded gaze remained on the doll. “Up to you.”
ready for a fight
MELITA
