there's always a glimmer in those
They truly were an interesting little group assembled beneath the bounty and grace of the Mathair. Melita tucked herself along one of the larger, raised roots, encompassing it much like a throne, except she leaned forward to watch and wait, gilded eyes studying and scrutinizing as they arrived after her. No stories were actually offered, a suggestion of Fangorn being the subject matter was met with approval by the gourd, and Libbs seemed to have an account of strange, bizarre things (after basket making, drinking, or flirting) that the honeybee youth didn’t have the wisdom to behold. What was a car? "Maybe each of us can offer up a story, from our past?" Better than just her shouting everything...
Since her companion seemed to the end result, the youth leaned down to snag him in her grasp – a triumphant, eerie grin settled upon his otherworldly, ethereal features, while she segmented her legs into a criss-cross style, placing the pumpkin in her lap. “Hm. Where to begin then…” her eyes lifted towards the sky, the light dusk floating and segmenting in. Wessex had asked her last year if she thought the goddess was listening; maybe, maybe not, but Melita always thought things were worth a shot, worth a try. She never expected a response from deities anyway.
She attempted to provide a tone of narration meant to uphold excitement and wonder, eyes widening on particular inflections or intriguing, interesting tidbits. “Every Leafchange, vampire gourds come alive. They roam across the Hollowed Grounds, in search of prey.” At this, Fangorn shuddered, an excitement, a rapacious pulse to his movements, corresponding with growls and hisses in all the right places. “Citizens usually don’t take too kindly to this, so they slay them anyway they can. Sometimes they’re smashed, sometimes they’re cooked, sometimes they’re used in games.” The youth had done so herself, without knowing, ignorant, and hadn’t participated in any of them since – unless one counted the Punking. “At the end of Leafchange though, one little survivor, maybe smarter or stealthier than the rest, came out of hiding. That’s when me and another person stumbled across him.” Her fingers pressed against the top of the gourd’s head, scratching at the stem while he purred. “I offered him a piece of meat, and he decided to stay with me.” Then he lifted him, triumphant and intoning a rumble of dedication. “Meet Fangorn.”
Since her companion seemed to the end result, the youth leaned down to snag him in her grasp – a triumphant, eerie grin settled upon his otherworldly, ethereal features, while she segmented her legs into a criss-cross style, placing the pumpkin in her lap. “Hm. Where to begin then…” her eyes lifted towards the sky, the light dusk floating and segmenting in. Wessex had asked her last year if she thought the goddess was listening; maybe, maybe not, but Melita always thought things were worth a shot, worth a try. She never expected a response from deities anyway.
She attempted to provide a tone of narration meant to uphold excitement and wonder, eyes widening on particular inflections or intriguing, interesting tidbits. “Every Leafchange, vampire gourds come alive. They roam across the Hollowed Grounds, in search of prey.” At this, Fangorn shuddered, an excitement, a rapacious pulse to his movements, corresponding with growls and hisses in all the right places. “Citizens usually don’t take too kindly to this, so they slay them anyway they can. Sometimes they’re smashed, sometimes they’re cooked, sometimes they’re used in games.” The youth had done so herself, without knowing, ignorant, and hadn’t participated in any of them since – unless one counted the Punking. “At the end of Leafchange though, one little survivor, maybe smarter or stealthier than the rest, came out of hiding. That’s when me and another person stumbled across him.” Her fingers pressed against the top of the gourd’s head, scratching at the stem while he purred. “I offered him a piece of meat, and he decided to stay with me.” Then he lifted him, triumphant and intoning a rumble of dedication. “Meet Fangorn.”
who have been through the dark
MELITA
