to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
It sounded as though not many of these meetings had gone spectacularly well. Melita might have preferred the burning aspect (as an individual who favored fire at all times), over the dramatics along Torchline, but she heaved a quiet sigh. “I don’t know. It was all very fast. Ronin took care of it.” And by took care of it, she meant with vitriol and vehemence, something she might’ve wholeheartedly approved of in the chaotic interims, if he hadn’t knocked Sunjata down in the process.
Fangorn grumbled in response, showing a wide, fanged, toothy grin that could’ve been menacing, malicious, or merely sadistic. It was difficult to tell – but he hadn’t forgotten the way Oliver had once shirked his presence, bounding a little closer to see if he could up the ante on intimidation. Melita snorted.
His considerations towards the heralds hadn’t happened either, and so they were left with more of the murky, eldritch unknown. Her walk persisted, the lantern light flickering over ramparts and beaches, over docks and ancient wood, over nothing Nate-shaped. The end results of the Grounds holding no one healthy was striking and terrifying too – as if it was an epidemic, incapable of being contained. “There’s a lot sick here too. No one seems to know what they’re doing. It’s like their minds are gone.” Houses burned down, disappearing off into the distance, rambling towards flames – everything and not, shorn down to bits and pieces. “Is there anything you guys need there?” Perhaps she could pick something up while she wandered into the Climb.
Fangorn grumbled in response, showing a wide, fanged, toothy grin that could’ve been menacing, malicious, or merely sadistic. It was difficult to tell – but he hadn’t forgotten the way Oliver had once shirked his presence, bounding a little closer to see if he could up the ante on intimidation. Melita snorted.
His considerations towards the heralds hadn’t happened either, and so they were left with more of the murky, eldritch unknown. Her walk persisted, the lantern light flickering over ramparts and beaches, over docks and ancient wood, over nothing Nate-shaped. The end results of the Grounds holding no one healthy was striking and terrifying too – as if it was an epidemic, incapable of being contained. “There’s a lot sick here too. No one seems to know what they’re doing. It’s like their minds are gone.” Houses burned down, disappearing off into the distance, rambling towards flames – everything and not, shorn down to bits and pieces. “Is there anything you guys need there?” Perhaps she could pick something up while she wandered into the Climb.
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
