MELITA
There; she’d finally gotten a laugh out of him. She tucked her hands and arms behind her back and grinned, nestled those thoughts away as he began attempting her challenge. Her eyes watched as the first arrow hit, and she didn’t care if it wasn’t in the middle – because it was a success. Sometimes that was all that mattered – persevering, enduring, persisting when there was nothing else. Trying benefitted doing naught at all, instead of curling into a ball, defeated, useless, ineffectual –Now she was distracting herself.
Her gilded gaze caught the second arrow’s flight, closer to the fringes, but still there, and the third was far better, inching nearer and nearer to the outlined middle. At his grin and inquiry, she endeavored one of her own, mischief and impish regards curled along her lips, stare otherwise innocent. “I’ll allow it,” she nodded her assent, but then supplied advice too, tipping her head to study and peruse the length of the bow, the tightness of the strings, the ramifications of ease and lack of torment. “See how close you were to the last one? Release the tension in yourself – you took a breath. Do it again. You have time.” There was always a moment for precision: she’d learned that herself, strived to put it into practice now and again, so the impulsive and impetuous didn’t outweigh tactics and strategies, meticulousness and deliberation. There was certainly room for it in her soul.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
