Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
No, Melita hadn’t responded to Darkeye’s letter.
She’d seen it. Glanced at it. Reread it a few times, then placed it back on the table, amidst other parchment and potentials. It had been days, and she’d still yet to process everything before, during, or after the cyclical acts of violence: and everything that came thereafter. Maybe the only thing she could understand was the giant uprooting itself from the cliffs – as if those fathoms made sense.
So they walked – her clan of companions and herself, bolstered by nothing more than the necessity to move and wander. The Oerwoud had its own plentiful possibilities, warranting a distraction from the coming days. Perhaps give her time to think.
Shouldering the weapons along her back, she hummed a little tune, bolstered by naught in particular, skipping down a familiar path and trail – none of them, dragon, vampire gourd, or human, aware of another lurking in the trees.
She’d seen it. Glanced at it. Reread it a few times, then placed it back on the table, amidst other parchment and potentials. It had been days, and she’d still yet to process everything before, during, or after the cyclical acts of violence: and everything that came thereafter. Maybe the only thing she could understand was the giant uprooting itself from the cliffs – as if those fathoms made sense.
So they walked – her clan of companions and herself, bolstered by nothing more than the necessity to move and wander. The Oerwoud had its own plentiful possibilities, warranting a distraction from the coming days. Perhaps give her time to think.
Shouldering the weapons along her back, she hummed a little tune, bolstered by naught in particular, skipping down a familiar path and trail – none of them, dragon, vampire gourd, or human, aware of another lurking in the trees.
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
