I think I thought I saw you try

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

The lure of a potential hunt was really all the girl needed to swindle her out of her miserable, moping funk. The excitement, the ebullience, the sudden galvanizing of violence lingered in her mind, in her veins, in her heart again, and she was beyond thrilled for the chance of a distraction, of a deterrent, from her latest failed schemes. “A wolf,” she muttered, already pacing the grounds in thought, Fangorn trodding along, trying to stay out of her way. “Phoebe and I met up with some wolves in the Labyrinth not terribly long ago. They were also quite bold.” Hunger, starvation, and the potential for some kind of meal might’ve spurned them on, desperate for something, anything, to let them survive one more day. She understood the feeling – the widened expanses of nothingness, day after day, night after night, fortitude, might, and sometimes sheer, dumb luck holding things together. Her features didn’t register any further bombardment on the subject, already flying off into the next thing – gilded smile still there, radiant and defiant. “Well, I’ll be more than happy to help.” She saluted, listening to his directions, before grabbing hold of Fangorn and rampaging back the way she’d come – twisting and turning over fallen leaves and hidden moss, missing the barbs, the nettles, and the thorns intending to drag her down. --- Her trip back and forth hadn’t taken too long – a girl of haste and impulsivity, still not certain of how to machinate and calculate. She did, however, learn something of preparation, and grabbed hold of more than just her quiver and bow; ensuring she had packed some water, some food, and some first-aid equipment in her bag, placing everything on her back. There was a little less speed due to her weightier load, but that was fine too – she could always drop it off at the edge of Rory’s farm, along a fence post or something, and come back for it later. Her mind was more on the hunt, on the mission, on the measures of power, dominion, and ability, striving to show everyone and everything that she wasn’t a consistent failure. Fangorn bounded behind her, and they set out walking, following the lines Jigano had proclaimed, humming beneath her breath, a little tune that had no clear stanzas or sonnets, a breath of autumn air mingled with her voracious interludes. She ceased when they finally arrived at the outskirts of the farm, and the pair glanced around for the specific fox. The vampire gourd found the gray creature first, hissing and growling, and Melita followed – leaning down towards the tinier beast, smiling, ready, fervent. “Are you my guide?” She intoned, bright and blistering, a youth too sharpened and kindled, incensed and eager, by the notion of desecration. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe