to be lit up from within
vein by vein
Melita somehow being the calm one and actually reasonable in the moment should probably have been recorded in the history books. But she also knew about snacks, and gave a light, merry sort of laugh when the horse’s gigantic lips accepted the offer, patting it on the neck as it munched. That she also got out of the endless rock derision was acceptable – and before Hadama could change his mind, she opted to take hold of the reins. “Sure.” She tugged lightly, and then deciding to keep up the sedate pace as more stones were placed, she hummed a little under her breath, and started telling the equine a semblance of stories – watching as its ears flicked back and forth under the quiet, ridiculous nature of the myths. “Okay, so listen to this one – there once was a farmer from Leeds, who swallowed a packet of seeds,” pausing to make sure the animal was listening, she carried on. “It soon came to pass, that he was covered with grass, but has all the tomatoes he needs.”
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Melita takes the horse and offers it stupid limericks to listen to.
to be the sun
MELITA
