voracixus cornered the tribute.
♟▌ THE metal feels foreign in her hand, the knife carved from a single piece of metal --far more graceful and smooth than any farmtool she’s encountered. but it’s not as if they’ll let her keep it. so when the clock hands reach five before the hour, she creeps from her shadowed corner to the edge of the training center, wide brown eyes taking in the clatter of weapons and those only a few years older than her yet so much more cruel.
SHE doesn’t feel right down here --everything too big, close, and loud. so it’s on quick feet that she scurries the last few feet, deft fingers setting the knife down. ▌ℜ
