Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
“Nice,” came on a cheeky grin, as she witnessed the launching of stances and arrows, of how it pieced itself together, of how Aurelia’s efforts combined into hitting the target directly in the eye. “Maybe we should have you try next time.” Half a joke, because the sea was ridiculous and dangerous in all the times she’d experienced its movements, its undulations. Then she wandered forward, grabbing hold of the training arrows that had dropped, Fangorn politely escorting and snagging at several with his vines and offering them in return. She scratched the gourd’s head, the smile still lingering, still blooming, while she pondered over the wake of Aurelia’s inquiry, shuffling her way back into the fold.
“I don’t know. They’ve been a problem for a while now.” Her brows furrowed, hands notching one of the armaments, fingers tracing over the feathering for a moment. “I’m tempted to ask Ludo for something before we head out again.” To bombard, to destroy, to obliterate the damned things. But she shrugged, and then continued in her motions again, practiced, routine, honed in to the very fabric of her flesh and bone.
A pull, a tug, a release, sending it forth towards those abominable creatures of the ocean (which was a shame, because she’d always liked whales until meeting those ingrates). The weapon flew in its rapid adornments, but still only managed to zero in on a bony spine, before rolling off with its blunted edge. It’d do no good in that shape and measure, and she clenched her teeth, half-enticed to growl or howl.
“I don’t know. They’ve been a problem for a while now.” Her brows furrowed, hands notching one of the armaments, fingers tracing over the feathering for a moment. “I’m tempted to ask Ludo for something before we head out again.” To bombard, to destroy, to obliterate the damned things. But she shrugged, and then continued in her motions again, practiced, routine, honed in to the very fabric of her flesh and bone.
A pull, a tug, a release, sending it forth towards those abominable creatures of the ocean (which was a shame, because she’d always liked whales until meeting those ingrates). The weapon flew in its rapid adornments, but still only managed to zero in on a bony spine, before rolling off with its blunted edge. It’d do no good in that shape and measure, and she clenched her teeth, half-enticed to growl or howl.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
