Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
The sound of the shout hastened all the tension, all the wilderness, straight into her bones. Her head lifted, and her hackles raised, much like a menacing, savage beast from the woods, from the sea, from whatever unearthly element she raised now. Wings unfurled from the creature, with his claws, with his ferocity, only hastened her own – and Melita ran rampant, snagging at Fangorn, pulling him violently into her chest, while the staff once over her shoulder was now drawn steadily, firmly into her hand.
Fangorn grumbled and screeched and she had no idea what he was saying. It didn’t matter once her blood was pumping in its seditious haze anyway; a snarl laying unbidden, unfurled across her mouth. “Back off,” she warned the dragon, the armament solid before her, a warning before any potential strike. But no one would be harming her companion today.
Fangorn grumbled and screeched and she had no idea what he was saying. It didn’t matter once her blood was pumping in its seditious haze anyway; a snarl laying unbidden, unfurled across her mouth. “Back off,” she warned the dragon, the armament solid before her, a warning before any potential strike. But no one would be harming her companion today.
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
