there's always a glimmer in those
She moved without patterns of thought, a restless impulse and indiscretion along the banks of the Stonesong, a song maneuvering past her lips, but not tuned properly – Fangorn rolling behind, distracted by an assortment of movement amongst the brush. Melita, for her part, swung her basket back and forth, weapons on her back bounding in the same accord. “We need to capture the sun,” she hummed under her breath, mostly to the vampire gourd, her eyes searching for anything gilded, golden, reflections of a warm earth, of a sky lingering in wonder, of a world maybe not so scorned, not so rattled, not so impacted by the harsh denizens. Lingering along the stones of the river, she was half-tempted by the scales of the goldfish sparkling and sizzling beneath the surface – except they wouldn’t make it to the celebration, dead upon arrival. Locks flocking, a sigh drumming from her chest, she eyed her companion off to the side. “What do you think?” Not truly expecting a response beyond a rumble, a growl, or a hiss, she meandered away from the rocks and pebbles, still searching for something depicting that reformation of light.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
