M E L I T A
The unknown stretched out before her – and while she should’ve been overwhelmed, stupefied, and bewildered, the girl dove recklessly into its folds. It was her nature, courageous and daring, willing and dauntless, inspired by a hundred different things all combining at once. Even amidst the Deepfrost candor, the rumored LongNight, the dreaded shadows creeping amidst the fold, she was effervescent and certain, full of intrepid steps and adventurous longing, skipping across rime meadows and glacial fields, a spark, an essence, of audacity and valor. The ignorance didn’t bind her, didn’t delude her, didn’t cause her to weep or become withdrawn. The tales and legends, the possibilities, whispered against her skin, implored her to discover, to wonder, to seek out the myths surrounding the notice board, to ignite against her passions, to sizzle along her crusades and sojourns.
She’d stumbled upon the minute construction of the perch purely by accident. Fangorn, nestled along her shoulder as she raced across the horizon, grumbled and yawned, and the youth shrugged, turning towards a nearby stump, hands raised and aloft for the gourd to jump within, to settle down and rest for whatever came next. But his eerie, enigmatic eyes had twisted elsewhere, and her gaze followed: gilded glances catching hold of ponies, holes, Rory, and a stranger.
Melita cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered across their distance. “Hello!” Rory was enough to send her clambering, movement and motion, a poem written in zealous, ardent, fervent ink; as if she’d been dipped in enchantments encased for never-ending action. He’d been kind – and she thrived on the persistence of benevolence, born into its tenderness, growing from its clemency and consideration, then surviving because of its mettle, its endurance. Fangorn hopped behind her, and together they were swift and nimble, careening across forest floors and copses, a beckoning smile lingering over each individual. The pumpkin managed to stop when she did, colliding with her leg and nibbling at her boots while her attention was diverted from pony (because she wanted to reach out and stroke their thickened fur, lay her hand against velvety noses), to stranger, and the ongoing process outlined before them. “What are you up to?” The inquiry was extended to all of them, bright and candid. “I can help!”
