a lion-hearted girl
Repeated efforts and cycles, protection required and needed through the monsoon season, and tributes to Safrin, left her following the lines towards the lighthouse. Melita wouldn’t come empty-handed, not for the starry goddess, but her heart was both infused with light and apprehension – the former for the herald, the latter for the Governor. So instead of sprawling herself along the front, with so many of the already gathered, the youth and her gourd hung around the back. Her hands grasped hold of some of the flowers gathered, implored and conveyed by the pink, purple, and blue hues, along with her favored rocks – pale and distinct, outlined like moons and stars, and several other shells meant to reflect the patterns of the sky. She spread them along her hands, her palms, her fingers, open and wide, on display for the goddess to snag, behold, and have, bowing her head in silent reverie and prayer, incapable of glancing Sunjata’s way.
ready for a fight
MELITA
