Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
He set off, and she focused.
A drawn breath, a coiled machination, a process long since instilled in her muscles. Memory and moments, between a strand and strength, muscles pulling at its distinction until she could hear the familiar tug of the string coiled in her hands. Ready it pulsed and presided.
Then she took aim, eyes searching, watching, striving to embark on the patterns of his movement. Not to hurt or maim, but merely to hit. He wasn’t a creature she was hunting. He wasn’t an adversary she was hoping to diminish. This was not embedded in acrimony, hostility, or tempests.
But she strived nonetheless – releasing it to whip through the air, intending to snap and crackle, and hit him in the hip.
A drawn breath, a coiled machination, a process long since instilled in her muscles. Memory and moments, between a strand and strength, muscles pulling at its distinction until she could hear the familiar tug of the string coiled in her hands. Ready it pulsed and presided.
Then she took aim, eyes searching, watching, striving to embark on the patterns of his movement. Not to hurt or maim, but merely to hit. He wasn’t a creature she was hunting. He wasn’t an adversary she was hoping to diminish. This was not embedded in acrimony, hostility, or tempests.
But she strived nonetheless – releasing it to whip through the air, intending to snap and crackle, and hit him in the hip.
Melita
