MELITA
For once, she was quiet, and solemn. No bounding across wood floors, no stretching her long limbs down narrow hallways, no rustling and opening the door back and forth, time and time again. Now was a time for solace and contemplation, reflection and pondering – the latter the hardest for her to obtain.From her designated space along the back of the bar, the honeybee girl lifted her eyes, staring at the assembled memorial wall. Its collection of remembrances flickered and floated beyond her, from lanterns to pictures, images left behind by souls who longed, who cherished, who devoted their thoughts to the individuals who could no longer be with them. Her gaze skittered from one to the next, remnants of last year’s LongNight harbored there, and the next one doomed to arrive in the following season, based on the chill in the air, in the turning, shifting leaves.
And now there were more to add.
Melita had gathered some materials along her desk, spreading them across the wooden surface, staring, gazing, upon things meant to represent lives lost. Would there be enough for Adam? For Peter? For the companions deceased and departed? And what would best symbolize the way they’d lived their lives? Her fingers floated over some sticks, pondering the unfamiliarity; yearning to express something – all she’d known of Adam was training with the bow, and Peter had been in the background. Fangorn grumbled from atop the veneer, pushing at a couple of feathers with his bulky frame, baring hints and notations as best he could. The rest would be up to her.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
