MELITA
Her jaw dropped open in rapt attention and enthusiasm the moment Hotaru mentioned Helovia at all – that she’d ruled the Basin for years, forgetting the notions of the Rift entirely when meeting another of her ilk. Her rapport was instantly magnanimous and ebullient, wondering if it would be all right to shake the older woman’s hand again, but tucked the excitement into coils of movement and motion, light on her feet. “Wow! It’s so nice to meet someone else from there. I never got to go to the Basin, but I heard a lot about it.” Legends, tales, of invasions, of rage, of revenge, something she would’ve loved to witness for herself – but she’d been born into fire, and not ice.Then it was back to basics in fighting. Melita had always been one who used her weapons (and the running of her mouth) to do the talking; eloquence in the motion of her staff, of her bow, of her sword, but not her own fists. The youth adhered into listening, following the instructions immediately – hands away from her face, eyes between sternum and eyes, watching, waiting for movements, pondering the parameters of an overreach. She knew the concepts of balance, something Alistair, Roana, and Wessex had instilled in her long ago, quickly grounding her feet, her soul, into the earth, remembering she could be a form of armaments and munitions too.
She saw the motion from Hotaru coming – as advised – but counteracting it was a different story. The slow, moving fist gave her some time to plot out the notions, and so she followed through with her right hand, trying to catch Hotaru’s movement in her palm.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
