MELITA
Introductions, easy enough – unfortunately most people already knew who she was, by whatever means (hopefully not the blight; didn’t want that to be the highlight of her exploits here), so she’d have to save it for another time. “Ek word Melita geoem,” she pronounced, her eyes to the sky as she deliberated and strived, desperate to get the right tones, the right inflections, simmering across her tongue. Was this how Gaal had maneuvered and declared himself to others? She could picture him strutting across some scenery, too big, too broad, too ridiculous, a manifestation of bulk and not much else. The youth didn’t bother asking, shaking her head at the picture in her cranium, lodged there like a maneuvering picture – maybe he didn’t bother, and just let his fists or the world do the talking. I am called Melita. Perhaps there’d be a day where she’d be heralded as something more. But for now – there she was. Her eyes flicked back to him briefly, while she drummed her fingers across the top of Fangorn’s head. “What about asking how they’re doing?” Simple, not complex, but likely a familiar gesture in learning any language. Or perhaps other questions, the idle curiosity stoked and invoked.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
