The storm that had rocked his boat, capsized him into a relentless ocean had finished long, long ago - yet there he was still thrashing about as if he swam to survive it still.
Her temper was her child self locked in a pointless cycle of sheltering under an imaginary shield and then brandishing a sword when she felt a rise in threat level.
Her temper was the knife she'd fashioned in that wild childhood a part of her had never escaped.
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