MELITA
She needn’t have worried, but the relief was so intense, too immense, that at the trill of an ivory dragon, a flap of wings, Aoife’s toddling appearance, and Ronin’s grin, she loosened a sharp breath, whittling it down to a softened sigh. Fangorn gurgled and hissed his own set of greetings towards hatchling, child, and guildmaster, and the youth dipped low, allowing him to be free of her hands so that he might inspect anything and everything. Her heart beat a drumming crescendo, nerves and appreciation, hands suddenly clustered together with nothing to hold or do. “Possibly one of the scariest I’ve seen,” she laughed and shook her head, remembering the babe in Remi’s custody at the festival, while they danced and shrieked with delight, with unspoken whims and mercurial columns. She proffered her arms to scoop up the child too, if Ronin was willing to unleash the tiny beast. Then the youth grew into a bundle of nerves again, which was very stupid, because the acceptance seemed too easy – perhaps she was meant to go for a trial, maybe she had to fight her way in, before she was finally recruited into their halls, into their merry laughter. Her gilded eyes held a myriad of questions, but her tongue settled for just one. “Is there anything I need to do?”
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
