M E L I T A
They returned after a successful fishing expedition; Melita had been hoping to acquire more berries or meat, and Fangorn had been only too happy to oblige in bouncing and scaring a few birds out into the open. Their first few rounds weren’t quite successful, and though the girl prided herself on her speed, she hadn’t notched the arrow on her haphazardly-constructed bow quite fast enough, and the partridge had flown off into the distance, cooing its desperate call.
She sighed, but it didn’t stop her – tenacity and stubbornness had crafted their way into her movements since the day she arrived on the earth. They crawled their way back into the long grass, remaining idle for a time, figuring given enough moments, the birds would return or calm down, and they’d have another opportunity. The honeybee child took those plodding moments to tug at the feathers on her arrow, to practice her release of the bowstring.
Then Fangorn hissed, staring off into the distance; where it seemed peaceful, tranquil, naught the matter. “What is it?” The youth whispered in return to her companion, drawing closer to the gourd and its eerie, enigmatic intonations; her eyes narrowed, trying desperately to see what he saw, to sense what he sensed. Was there something else out there – far more dangerous than the birds?
