Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Melita truthfully hadn’t held any inclination to go to Stormbreak. She’d ignored Ronin’s messages about the dragoons. She’d at least adhered to some semblances of warnings about the nature of that world – and with her favored uncle meant to be in its treacherous midst, it hadn’t been anything worth pursuing. “Maybe,” and she shrugged her shoulders; not wanting to loosen away the potential, but not rushing headlong into it either (which might be accounted for personal growth and actual thought). Even if a skyboat did sound very intriguing. And there probably weren’t any god damned ghost whales flailing through the horizon.
As for monster hunting, the honeybee’s smile widened a fraction. “Yes! The one on the notice boards. I used to do a little in the guild, back in the Hollowed Grounds.” Younger and dumber, rampaging towards banshees. Though that clearly hadn’t changed, given how many other spectacles and fiends she’d run into. “Well, knowing this world, you’ll have opportunities before you know it.” Was that encouraging?
The notions about a priest catching her made her laugh lightly. A fair point about utilizing her mother’s name – even if the temptation would be so readily immersed. Her gaze flickered back upward, fingers clenched over her staff, at more mentions of Ludo. “Was it Safrin who didn’t like Ludo, or the other way around…,” she began to murmur, suddenly lost in thought.
Then Fangorn’s warnings came flashing through though, and the youth had only just enough time to stick out her armament, intending to knock it near the dragon’s scales, while she reached down once more to pluck the gourd under her elbow. It was a rush of zealous movement and motion, borne from all of those impetuous, muscle memory designs, a growl and sneer within her essence. Immediate cinders and flares and embers.
As for monster hunting, the honeybee’s smile widened a fraction. “Yes! The one on the notice boards. I used to do a little in the guild, back in the Hollowed Grounds.” Younger and dumber, rampaging towards banshees. Though that clearly hadn’t changed, given how many other spectacles and fiends she’d run into. “Well, knowing this world, you’ll have opportunities before you know it.” Was that encouraging?
The notions about a priest catching her made her laugh lightly. A fair point about utilizing her mother’s name – even if the temptation would be so readily immersed. Her gaze flickered back upward, fingers clenched over her staff, at more mentions of Ludo. “Was it Safrin who didn’t like Ludo, or the other way around…,” she began to murmur, suddenly lost in thought.
Then Fangorn’s warnings came flashing through though, and the youth had only just enough time to stick out her armament, intending to knock it near the dragon’s scales, while she reached down once more to pluck the gourd under her elbow. It was a rush of zealous movement and motion, borne from all of those impetuous, muscle memory designs, a growl and sneer within her essence. Immediate cinders and flares and embers.
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
