M E L I T A
Just don’t move too fast was easier said than done; Melita was frequently more of a cannon ball, ricocheting and bounding, leaping and frolicking, immersed either in mercurial pursuits or complete whimsy…to even give thought to a calm, serene manner. That had been her sister and her mother; somewhere along the way she’d inherited or acquired a reckless, ambitious onslaught of compassion and motivation, a galvanizing force tendered into determination and obstinance. It didn’t lend well to those tranquil instances, but lord, the girl always gave it a solid effort.
She grabbed hold of Fangorn and dropped down as best she could. The branch still rustled, and she still had to land with a thud, but it was muffled with the way she tucked her knees, with the way she breathed instead of shouted. Her eyes followed Phoebe’s movements as she offered an apple to one of the luxere, how it took it straight from her hand, and the greedy, covetous contortions in Melita’s being suddenly wanted that too.
Fangorn was placed behind her, where he watched quietly, eerie eyes taking in every movement and motion, as she grabbed one of the apples she’d left out to entice the deer. She slowed her breathing, eased an inhale, an exhale, and then extended her hand out to the one closest, waiting to see if it would take the invitation. Half of her thought it wouldn’t – she was too chaotic, too close to mayhem, and the other portion of her soul simply hoped, a smile written clearly across her face.
