MELITA
Snagging at one of Fangorn’s offered paintbrushes, the gourd grumbled and waved his vines contentedly, hinting at something soon to come, which Melita either ignored or didn’t pay much credence to. “Hm, I think this color,” she hummed to herself, admiring the lighter blue tangents in a vial nearby, plucking it neatly with her fingers and intending to twist the cap off, figuring it could amount to the streaks of lightning she intended to put upon the lantern.Then there was an outcry from Sila, spotting something coming overhead, and the pumpkin’s warning suddenly made a lot more sense.
Grimacing in apology to him, the youth watched with furrowed brows as fabric (and luckily not any of those damned spiders) began to roll in, settling against her sister’s container. Placing the paint down, top still on, she reached forward to clutch it and save the tassels from any upcoming breeze, until another came hurrying.
Glancing upwards from her settled position along the sand, Melita came face to face with Isla. Now, she knew who she was from gatherings amidst the Grounds, afar and beyond, but no other finer details. Sensing nothing untoward, she nodded, holding it aloft for the Ancient to take. “Sure. Here you go.”
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
