you must burn brighter than ever
There was half a moment where she was going to reel into self-deprecating humor, but instead quieted herself into a curling smile, head tilted, petals surrounding crimson locks and wildfire abyss. “Sure. But you can’t stay ignorant for long here.” Too many things, too many people, too many moving, marauding parts. She’d been young when she’d arrived to Caido, and young still, but there’d been hardships contorted throughout, politics on display, and nuance after nuance of strife that didn’t ever quite find an ending.
A hum, a note, of agreement stirred at the insinuation that they all needed an escape. Melita had been immersed in her fair share of dramatics, courtesy of her uncles, but she wasn’t entirely aware of Aurelia’s comings and goings. It likely wasn’t her place to ask. The inquiries stuck to the roof of her mouth and billowed away on a breath, eyes tracing over the wind-borne grass, the sway of the world around them. “I agree,” came instead, fingers grabbing hold of the greenery, twisting a particular blade in between her fingers.
But there were more thoughts, more things to prevail upon, and she twisted her head towards her fellow smuggler, at the notation of poisonous birds back in homelands, far, far away. “Fangorn!” She hollered over the press of small hills and knolls, to where the gourd was clearly resting on his stone bench. “Bring my bag!” The companion grumbled but still seemed to adhere, eventually bounding down between them, the satchel’s handle embedded in his mouth. Melita grabbed hold of both, settling the pumpkin along her lap while she rummaged through her bounty, carefully producing some emerald feathers. “Locke was fine,” and she held them out for Aurelia to inspect. “I thought about using them on my arrows.” As for the location of the other individual, she hadn’t a clue. “I didn’t know he’d disappeared.”
A hum, a note, of agreement stirred at the insinuation that they all needed an escape. Melita had been immersed in her fair share of dramatics, courtesy of her uncles, but she wasn’t entirely aware of Aurelia’s comings and goings. It likely wasn’t her place to ask. The inquiries stuck to the roof of her mouth and billowed away on a breath, eyes tracing over the wind-borne grass, the sway of the world around them. “I agree,” came instead, fingers grabbing hold of the greenery, twisting a particular blade in between her fingers.
But there were more thoughts, more things to prevail upon, and she twisted her head towards her fellow smuggler, at the notation of poisonous birds back in homelands, far, far away. “Fangorn!” She hollered over the press of small hills and knolls, to where the gourd was clearly resting on his stone bench. “Bring my bag!” The companion grumbled but still seemed to adhere, eventually bounding down between them, the satchel’s handle embedded in his mouth. Melita grabbed hold of both, settling the pumpkin along her lap while she rummaged through her bounty, carefully producing some emerald feathers. “Locke was fine,” and she held them out for Aurelia to inspect. “I thought about using them on my arrows.” As for the location of the other individual, she hadn’t a clue. “I didn’t know he’d disappeared.”
Melita
