Melita
Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down
to swallow the flame down
Truth be told, no one had ever asked Mel to read them any bedtime stories, so she shrugged her shoulders, unbothered by the sentiments. There were always dozens of traumas to share anyway, and most were never given any voice.
So she snorted at his drawl, rolling her eyes towards the darkening horizon. Pressure was on. But what she found horrible and grating might not have bothered the Captain in the least. Scratching at the top of Fangorn’s head, she looked out over the breadth of sky and expanse of scenery, biding her time. “We used to have a festival here called Fiat Lux. Something to celebrate surviving LongNight, and all of that.” Associated with the gods, with the coming of spring, with merriment, with mirth. Images flickered and burst, one right after other. “One year there was some kind of…mud creature. So while we were dancing, singing, and playing around, we didn’t notice what was going on.”
Out of amusement, Jack might have enjoyed the mental imagery of Sunjata, in whale form, stuck within the beast – but everything thereafter ached in ways she couldn’t quite describe. “There was a group fighting it, but they couldn’t stop it in time.” Shards of ice, of rock, of muck, of grime, shattered against the outcroppings, and the youth frowned, fingers twirling along the gourd’s vines. “A lot of people died. More were injured.” Her own leg snapped, and she could remember dragging herself through the field, damned well not going to be the one smothered and doomed. “So there’s quite a few of us who don’t…enjoy those events.”
So she snorted at his drawl, rolling her eyes towards the darkening horizon. Pressure was on. But what she found horrible and grating might not have bothered the Captain in the least. Scratching at the top of Fangorn’s head, she looked out over the breadth of sky and expanse of scenery, biding her time. “We used to have a festival here called Fiat Lux. Something to celebrate surviving LongNight, and all of that.” Associated with the gods, with the coming of spring, with merriment, with mirth. Images flickered and burst, one right after other. “One year there was some kind of…mud creature. So while we were dancing, singing, and playing around, we didn’t notice what was going on.”
Out of amusement, Jack might have enjoyed the mental imagery of Sunjata, in whale form, stuck within the beast – but everything thereafter ached in ways she couldn’t quite describe. “There was a group fighting it, but they couldn’t stop it in time.” Shards of ice, of rock, of muck, of grime, shattered against the outcroppings, and the youth frowned, fingers twirling along the gourd’s vines. “A lot of people died. More were injured.” Her own leg snapped, and she could remember dragging herself through the field, damned well not going to be the one smothered and doomed. “So there’s quite a few of us who don’t…enjoy those events.”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun
to be the sun
