Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
For some reason, Melita had expected the seed pod to be one of those things that lasted for eternity. Maybe youthful exuberance, the wildchild embrace of life instead of things mired in practicality – but the look of disappointment pressed into her features the moment the strike destroyed the shell. “Aww,” she murmured, eyes downcast for an instant.
Which allowed her stare to trace over the other proportions along the pool – nettled and nestled with them. And quite possibly, besides her weapons and companions, one of her favorite things. “What about a rock?” Crouching down for a moment, inspecting the potential wares, she selected an ivory one – figuring it’d be easy to find if it dropped in the water, and then tossed it over to him, before resuming her stance.
Which allowed her stare to trace over the other proportions along the pool – nettled and nestled with them. And quite possibly, besides her weapons and companions, one of her favorite things. “What about a rock?” Crouching down for a moment, inspecting the potential wares, she selected an ivory one – figuring it’d be easy to find if it dropped in the water, and then tossed it over to him, before resuming her stance.
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
