M E L I T A
Melita had forgotten her task entirely the moment she spotted the water.
She’d meant to go find some pieces of wood for the impending LongNight, maybe some smaller portions she’d be able to carry back and forth to her shelter, use for fire when the darkness encroached and she felt monsters come near. Fangorn had even taken the time to spot some branches worth saving, gesturing at them with his eerie stare, and the youth had been designated to the efforts for several instances, gathering them in her arms and then placing them into a pile. She’d load them into her bag later.
But she’d twisted just enough so she could see the glimpse of the oasis, rushing and running along twin stone faces, and the sensation of delight, of yesteryears, was too strong, too grand, to be ignored. She shucked off her shoes without hesitation, racing for the collection of babbling, cold water, exposing her toes to the elements as she took intervals to play, splashing and shouting, laughing and giggling with nothing, no one, around.
“C’mon then!” She called out to Fangorn, who shook his head in dismay, hissing his displeasure, hopping across snow-laden grass, intending to find more tools for impending days. She shrugged, ignored his disapproval, and lowered her hands to the cool, chilling water, watching as the babbling elements washed away the dirt and soil stuck to her fingers. It wasn’t the same waves and crusades from Helovia; when she and her friends had ventured down a hundred beaches, searching for shells and adventures, whales and promises, but it was a little like home, a taste, a nuance, of what used to be. Maybe it was foolish; the creek was cold and coiled at her feet like a threatening noose, and after a few moments she scampered out of it, pondering the depths of warm sand and endless desert. But she was savage and untamed, restless and wild, and this world wouldn’t dissuade her, not yet, even as she heaved a breath and rummaged around in the grass, trying to find the shoes she’d parted with minutes before.
