there's always a glimmer in those
The little gourd was not often a mooch for food; quite capable of grabbing his own wares. Mostly insects. Sometimes meat. He’d learned not to be picky as a bonded companion. But he was suitably impressed, and it might’ve shown in the way his mouth rounded, little fangs poking out, in amazement, as Aidon easily snagged a portion of croissant. He rumbled and grumbled in return to his friend when offered another piece, greedily stuffing it into his mouth with regular aplomb, spreading crumbs everywhere under the table, then raising his vines in a show of contentment.
Melita applied some more butter and honey to her bread, head tilting vaguely, satisfied, comfortable, along the kitchen, in between plans for training and food. “Sounds good! I make all my own targets too!” What wasn’t said was the state of such targets – often haphazardly strewn together, with sticks tied, misshapen, rocks piled upon one another. They served their purpose, even if they were in a habitual state of disrepair and lacking in high quality. “We could probably set something up out back,” and she hastened her chin towards the garden, before grabbing a slice of cheese.
Melita applied some more butter and honey to her bread, head tilting vaguely, satisfied, comfortable, along the kitchen, in between plans for training and food. “Sounds good! I make all my own targets too!” What wasn’t said was the state of such targets – often haphazardly strewn together, with sticks tied, misshapen, rocks piled upon one another. They served their purpose, even if they were in a habitual state of disrepair and lacking in high quality. “We could probably set something up out back,” and she hastened her chin towards the garden, before grabbing a slice of cheese.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
