MELITA
Not musically adept by any stretch of the imagination, Melita had simply presumed the instrument a part of the man – perhaps his own – but the information lended to more of the story, the chosen pieces. She nodded, taking in the notes and details, the fabric plaited at the ends. Her eyes narrowed back in her own speculation – knowing she likely didn’t have to explain the lightning marked and scorched across her lantern, nor the finishing touches on the dragon, or the little, mechanical star whale she’d begun to create, after rotating the lantern some more. “Was he very good?”Topics of locations and living arrangements seemed to be far more fitting, and her eyes widened slightly as the breadth of notations began to unfurl from the healer; but then again, sorrow had never been a grand or great topic to wax poetical upon. “What makes you hesitant?” Considering her plans, and outlines of healing provisions. Pausing in her painting for a moment, the Honeybee’s head tilted; for rarely did anyone seek her advice, unless it was violence related. “We do have the fountains, but citizens here aren’t really uh…medically inclined.” Tended to be of the injury-prone, mostly because they were drunk. “It’d probably be good to have someone who knew what they were doing, and could help others learn and understand.” Her mother had been the same, after all, mending, tending, to the world of the Dragon’s Throat. Melita wished she’d had anything recorded in those memories, besides the long stems of drying herbs in their kitchens.
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
