Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
Melita had suddenly become very busy and responsible and she wasn’t certain she liked it. On the one hand, information was powerful, and she needed to ensure others knew what was going on. On the other hand, fuckin’ hell.
Regardless, the Honeybee would be a steadfast and loyal demigod to her herald, and forge onward. Whether anything, everything, or nothing was connected to the forefront of intermingling denizens, shifty dreams, and jungle exploits would remain to be seen – but she was certainly going to strive forward and see what could be done.
Ignoring the muddle of confusion in her brain, as it had rarely needed to think and plot in such ways, she’d dropped Iskra off at the skyport and shoved all those feelings down for later. On a side quest, she then ambled her way to shops and snagged at things she figured Ronin would like (Halovian whiskey) before finally making her way to the greenhouse.
Shoving her bag higher on her shoulder, she entered the threshold and was immediately greeted by the bewildering contrast. Humid and hot, she started to peel off layers, spying the coatrack near the door for the exact occasion. Thereafter though, her jaw dropped, having never been this way in all her exploits, and finding it an impeccable thing in the middle of nowhere and all this damned snow.
Recalling her actual mission, she glided through a series of well-kept plant life and vivid trees, whispering to others nearby gathering berries, and once they pointed her in the right direction, towards a cluster of bushes bearing fruit, she recognized the individual she’d purposefully come to see. But only because of dodgeball.
Clearing her throat, she put her hands behind her back and strived to look as innocent as possible, which…probably didn’t work. “Hey there – sorry to interrupt. You’re Amhran, right?”
Regardless, the Honeybee would be a steadfast and loyal demigod to her herald, and forge onward. Whether anything, everything, or nothing was connected to the forefront of intermingling denizens, shifty dreams, and jungle exploits would remain to be seen – but she was certainly going to strive forward and see what could be done.
Ignoring the muddle of confusion in her brain, as it had rarely needed to think and plot in such ways, she’d dropped Iskra off at the skyport and shoved all those feelings down for later. On a side quest, she then ambled her way to shops and snagged at things she figured Ronin would like (Halovian whiskey) before finally making her way to the greenhouse.
Shoving her bag higher on her shoulder, she entered the threshold and was immediately greeted by the bewildering contrast. Humid and hot, she started to peel off layers, spying the coatrack near the door for the exact occasion. Thereafter though, her jaw dropped, having never been this way in all her exploits, and finding it an impeccable thing in the middle of nowhere and all this damned snow.
Recalling her actual mission, she glided through a series of well-kept plant life and vivid trees, whispering to others nearby gathering berries, and once they pointed her in the right direction, towards a cluster of bushes bearing fruit, she recognized the individual she’d purposefully come to see. But only because of dodgeball.
Clearing her throat, she put her hands behind her back and strived to look as innocent as possible, which…probably didn’t work. “Hey there – sorry to interrupt. You’re Amhran, right?”
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
