Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
She laughed, light and airy, wisps of jungle and desert and fire, before plucking what she required, needed, sought, out. There were several, no more than four, of the emerald adornments resting in her hand, and she took great care not to crumple or damage them, as Fangorn continued to plead and rumble and grumble at her ankles. “All set!” Then she backed away, intending to give him ample space to release the bird amongst the struggles and squawkings – readying her staff in her other hand, in case the creature gave chase (understandable – to come with vengeance and a taste for their blood).
When it was all over, she extended out her palm, ensuring he had an ample, fair amount – two for each. “Your share, good sir,” and she giggled again, until the merriment amidst the danger sunk into the boughs, branches, and eaves. “What will you do with yours?”
When it was all over, she extended out her palm, ensuring he had an ample, fair amount – two for each. “Your share, good sir,” and she giggled again, until the merriment amidst the danger sunk into the boughs, branches, and eaves. “What will you do with yours?”
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
