moth to flame

Hazel has the bug. It's like a fever she can't sweat out, can't tamp down, can't control. She wants to fight. She needs to fight. Over and over again until she's satisfied, she'll show up here. She'll arrive on the battlefield and hope that there's someone worthy. Someone who wants to take her on. Maybe Hazel still feels like she has something to prove-- maybe she knows it. Something she longs to prove, to show everyone. She'd prove them all wrong. She had to prove them all wrong. Everyone who'd ever underestimated her-- they had to see. Had to.

With high steps and bright eyes, the red and pale yearling returned to the battlefield. She came to rest in one of the scorched earth rings, taking a moment to stretch and compose her thoughts. Around her, the chilly autumn breeze seemed to swirl and fight. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, and it would be coming down soon. Still, she had time. Tipping her head back, a call rang true from the little fighter. It was time.

"Speech"