Responding to the wip game! I'm very curious what "With Knives and Flowers" is about!!! :D
wip game!
I was hoping someone was gonna ask about that one, so thank you for asking and letting me share a bit about it! :D
It's a heathstrid WIP, with the two of them sparring in a field of flowers. Astrid has been very upset and angry with the whole situation involving the Dragon Hunters and Heather, and one afternoon Heather asks if she wants to walk across the Edge to unwind, maybe train together, and... Well! Astrid has a lot of unresolved feelings. Here's a preview of what I have so far!
They hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from Astrid’s chest. The flowers—yellow and pale violet—burst beneath them in a fragrant cloud, easing their startled fall. It lasted only a blink: the world became nothing but colour and sunlight and the sharp thud of bodies colliding. Softness, almost, though Astrid didn’t know why that was the first word that came to her mind. It didn’t matter. With a grunt, she rolled to straighten herself, knee sliding between Heather’s thigh, her weight settling low and firm as she forced her opponent flat to the earth. The haft of her axe came up in the same motion, wood scraping against leather as she pressed the blunt head beneath Heather’s jaw. If she twisted her wrist only a bit to the side, the blade would surely kiss the skin of her throat. Petals drifted down around them, and Heather’s chest rose slowly beneath Astrid’s figure. Her braids had come half-loose in the tumble, raven-black strands tangled with crushed blooms. A streak of dirt marked her cheek like war paint, though it did nothing to dull the sharp brightness of her eyes. “Oh,” Heather gasped, swallowing containedly, “despite everything, you do know how to keep your blades sharp, I see.” The sound came out harsher than she intended when Astrid scoffed. She pulled her axe back, just enough to replace it with the pressure of her forearm across Heather’s collarbone, keeping the grip steady in her right hand. “What do you mean,” her breath was still rough from the fall, “despite everything?” Heather tilted her head slightly, and the movement dragged Astrid’s arm along the line of her neck. She acted as though she were lounging on a summer hill instead of pinned beneath a warrior twice her size. Astrid hated that. Hated the lazy confidence in her gaze. Hated the way Heather’s lashes dipped as she looked up through them—almost coy, almost teasing. She thought she was so smart, so pretty, and so sly, didn’t she? Urgh, reckless. So godsdamn reckless! They were friends now; their differences should have been finally resolved years ago. Still, at times, in the same place most stomachs churn when furious, something tingled in Astrid’s, and she thought it was anger. Perhaps they still had much to address and discuss.
