Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
No; it wasn’t fear. That feeling hadn’t touched her bones or quickened her pulse in some time. Not with all the armaments at her disposal. Not with all the elements fused together, ensconced and brewing in her heart. Not with the temper and fury lingering in her veins. This was some sense of trepidation, a warning etching and sketching its way down her backbone; because something was off. Fangorn pooled his own forewarning in a dangling of his vines, inching closer to some of the rocks lined along the Fingers’ outsets.
But bolder and bolder still, the youth maneuvered forward. Not stretching her lanky limbs in a rushed pace, but cautious, bare feet inclining along the sand, the dunes, the stones, the rubble. The youth’s eyes caught the artifact in Maea’s hand, narrowing her gaze slightly, turning and twisting in the range of moonlight. “What are you doing out here?”
But bolder and bolder still, the youth maneuvered forward. Not stretching her lanky limbs in a rushed pace, but cautious, bare feet inclining along the sand, the dunes, the stones, the rubble. The youth’s eyes caught the artifact in Maea’s hand, narrowing her gaze slightly, turning and twisting in the range of moonlight. “What are you doing out here?”
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
