MELITA
Back along the canal wall, breath elapsing over and over, back to its cyclical turns, the youth finally looked at the mermaid. She’d probably seen the other somewhere before, amidst the mass of Torchline individuals, but never introduced herself, too caught up amongst other things. Perhaps that was part of her problem – constantly navigating a horde of motions at once, and all of them fleeting, churning, turning her in different directions. But she seemed all right, minus the lack of sound. Melita crouched, dress billowing and pillowing out along her sides, over her knees, as she bent forward, daring, audacious all over again. The motions the mermaid concocted caused her to tilt her head again, briefly shrugging towards Fangorn, before rounding back to the opposite youth. She was clearly trying to tell her something. “Does your throat hurt?” Maybe there’d be a remedy nearby, in the market, and the smuggler girl could find something to ease and alleviate the pain.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
