Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
Melita took her time coming home.
Departing the Ark, supplies over her shoulder, and Fangorn in her wake, they didn’t take the port and its pathways directly to Aumakua. Instead, her bare feet tread lightly into the sand, and the trepidation began to pool in her stomach, inclining along the beach, beneath the sun and its radiant wares. Perhaps she could take her wiles and whims here, for the moment, because the last voyage ensured that not a single thought over matters she’d left behind had occurred.
And so the apprehension returned, and with it some of the frustration, the rage, of previous circumstances. What was she going to find back at the house? Disorder, disarray, some other brand of chaos the Flood had gotten up to in the past season? A child she didn’t know? Nate, disappeared or returned, and neither option good or grand? The fire lit, stoked, and kindled, and Fangorn grumbled something by her feet. “I know,” she murmured; perhaps by some way of understanding. “But I can’t right now.” Time – she needed time, an inclination, a sign that it was fine to go back.
Or to leave it all entirely behind.
And that too, melded a knot in her stomach.
So for now, the youth bided her hours, kicking at the sand until her toes recalled the feeling, and marauding her way along the sodden, dampened portions, where the tide rolled – only glancing upward to see someone further ahead.
Departing the Ark, supplies over her shoulder, and Fangorn in her wake, they didn’t take the port and its pathways directly to Aumakua. Instead, her bare feet tread lightly into the sand, and the trepidation began to pool in her stomach, inclining along the beach, beneath the sun and its radiant wares. Perhaps she could take her wiles and whims here, for the moment, because the last voyage ensured that not a single thought over matters she’d left behind had occurred.
And so the apprehension returned, and with it some of the frustration, the rage, of previous circumstances. What was she going to find back at the house? Disorder, disarray, some other brand of chaos the Flood had gotten up to in the past season? A child she didn’t know? Nate, disappeared or returned, and neither option good or grand? The fire lit, stoked, and kindled, and Fangorn grumbled something by her feet. “I know,” she murmured; perhaps by some way of understanding. “But I can’t right now.” Time – she needed time, an inclination, a sign that it was fine to go back.
Or to leave it all entirely behind.
And that too, melded a knot in her stomach.
So for now, the youth bided her hours, kicking at the sand until her toes recalled the feeling, and marauding her way along the sodden, dampened portions, where the tide rolled – only glancing upward to see someone further ahead.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
