Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
The raw, stupefying laughter hastened a few more birds to flutter out of the ridiculous woodwork. It made Melita jump for a moment, and then start giggling all over again, that she’d flinched and been taken aback by swamp grouse or crows. She probably should’ve been deterred too – but few things really maneuvered her away from the temptation, enticement, or allure of danger. Why would a bog witch, or the potential for them to be lost in this god forsaken hellhole?
She bumped her elbow back at him in return, then hummed underneath her breath again, grabbing at a nearby branch and dragging it along until it snapped under her ministrations. “I think I would too. And build a better shelter.” Her shoulders shrugged, and then the telltale opus of an empty stomach unfurled in a loud gurgle; corresponding another round of mercurial, whimsical giggles. Fangorn might’ve rolled his eyes, if anyone was gauging his reaction. “All this talk of food has made me hungry though. And no gingerbread house in sight.”
She bumped her elbow back at him in return, then hummed underneath her breath again, grabbing at a nearby branch and dragging it along until it snapped under her ministrations. “I think I would too. And build a better shelter.” Her shoulders shrugged, and then the telltale opus of an empty stomach unfurled in a loud gurgle; corresponding another round of mercurial, whimsical giggles. Fangorn might’ve rolled his eyes, if anyone was gauging his reaction. “All this talk of food has made me hungry though. And no gingerbread house in sight.”
I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
