MELITA
Fangorn was having an excellent time unnerving the stranger. Too many others had seen him or experienced his brethren – so he couldn’t achieve the full effect of his wayfaring, eerie, enigmatic ways for ages – his great toothy grin extended every time Oliver seemed nervous or edgy. Melita managed to roll her eyes, reaching over to stroke at the top of the gourd’s head, only a mild rebuke stoked in their connection. “Sorry, this is my companion, Fangorn.” She paused, tilting her head again, regarding the earthen demon. “He thinks it’s funny to unsettle you.” Her brows quirked upward, mouth hiding the beginnings of a laugh, before her eyes lingered down on their drawings again. “Thank you. Luxeres are wonderful. Have you met any?” They’d been a beautiful entity along LongNight’s scalding throngs; she’d pressed her ilk into their sanction, their sanctuary, music curling from her lips as they all ran from the embers. As for his other admissions, she simply shook her head, wild, crimson locks flowing and unfurling. “We all start somewhere. And they’re not awful at all.” Then the girl instigated a laugh, rousing spitfire musings. “I can’t carry a single tune, but that doesn’t stop me!” Few things ever did – when her mind was set to goals and ideals – stubborn, obstinate, resolute, a piercing, puncturing fire-breathing entity when her heart was resolute and her soul intact.
At least Oliver had been somewhat adventurous, sojourning to the Bone Bridge, to the tethers and lines of ominous qualities. “Well, there are rumors of monsters beneath the bridge.” Here she smiled, a mischievous, Cheshire grin that likely matched Fangorn’s, humming a little under her breath. “I haven’t seen any, despite all the times I’ve come.” Her tone indicated some disappointment. “We built a shrine to Ludo recently, over there,” and she pointed in the direction, back and away from the twisting, turning fog.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
