[se] for a long time ahead

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

Melita hadn’t expected the Nightingale, nor the hug accompanying her, but she gave a light laugh, returned it in response. “You must be busy,” she hastened with a soft grin; uncertain just how much Frey’s demigod had been committed to in either Torchline or Stormbreak. “Of course,” recalling the food fight at the end of the last season.

Fangorn, a survivor, and wily in his own ramparts, gave the cat a sneer – fangs protruding from his mouth. Pim was known, of course, and received a wave of his vines, before he bumbled and grumbled at Melita’s ankles; a zone of safety.

Phoebe’s visit to the Halenani made sense, and even after all the time passed, it sounded somewhat normal – simplistic, given everything made to churn and turn. The honeybee accepted it, and bent down to return to her procuring of wood, hastening the dried proportions into a neat pile. “You did. I was hoping to get enough for several bonfires.” Celebrations and parties, rather than the angst-filled dread of previous LongNights. “You’re welcome to join me.” It’d be done faster, swifter, with more hands and able forms.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me