MELITA
Per Jigano’s suggestion, and her prior failure, the girl hastened the next morning, bright and early, towards the Artisan’s Guild. Her movements were less chaotic, less savage, less inclined to wild properties, but ebullient, singsong without the right notes and decibels, a short tune rising from her mouth and springing lightly into the autumn air. A portion of her hoped and another part dreaded, so they seemed to cancel one another out on sprigs of movement and motion – Fangorn tucked in her arms as they gallivanted into uncharted, unknown waters. Her bag wasn’t so light today either, comprised of some things she thought Remi (or Aoife, for that matter) might like, including the remaining rocks from the bottom of the Crimson Cataract, some little puffs of feathers she’d found in the woods, and a variety of shells hastened from shore lines. Her gilded gaze, however, was caught on the lines of the Guild before her. Not unlike the Monster Hunters, there was a hall – but then there were also rows upon rows of stalls, outreaches of tools, instruments, devices, and trappings, encouraging those to share their skills, their abilities, their talents with the rest of the world. Partially forgetting about her quest, she wandered down the kiosks, greeting those working, appreciating their wares, promising to come again soon, her luminescent smile still radiating down the length of the avenues. Lost after a turn, she doubled back another way, and finally managed to poke her head into the right area. “Remi?” She inquired, not wishing to bother, not yearning to pry, but still a vivid little thing garbed in curiosity and intrigue.
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
Disappear into the sun
