MELITA
Success again and again, and there were the results of her careful, precise training, of all the words and wisdom of others flowing through her – Alistair, Wessex, Roana, while she grounded herself and simply allowed her eyes to guide her. Sunjata shifted back, and she was a wave of pulsing delight, a far better, far brighter beacon than before, triumphant little grin ensnaring the thralls of her mouth as he granted her compliments. Ah yes, she’d be better than her damned father any day. “Thank you,” and she bowed a little, a sweeping presentation of hands swinging and bending, before returning, crimson locks fluttering around in her wild formation, nothing tamed. “You’re an excellent flier.” Which must be nice – she had a hundred questions blooming along her mind about the enthrallments, the essence of flight, what it must be like – her experience was limited to riding on Remi’s manticore form and bludgeoning a giant vampire gourd (but even that had been exhilarating, between all the danger and dominion). His inquiry ceased the bounty of her own verging on her teeth and tongue though. “The Rift. So we could survive.” She shrugged, even then, it hadn’t been her best work. “But people here taught me how to be more precise.” I learn, she wanted to gesture. It might be slow and steady, but she learned. Taking the opportunity, she insisted upon chatting about his Attuned bond, how he’d gained it, how he enjoyed it, or any other experiences he was venturing towards, as the day pressed into its chilling raptures and reveries.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
