M E L I T A
It was the singing that coaxed her attention – beautiful and melodic, something straight out glades and harmonies, bright, and ebullient. It reminded Melita of her mother’s beatific sonnets and verses, of her sister’s gentle, harmonizing hums, when they nestled themselves together along a quiet threshold and simply existed. So she was drawn, much like the luxere, to the soft chords, to the melancholy threads, and basked along the settlements, trying to pinpoint the source. Fangorn did the same, sniffing the air, bounding this way and that, and they were a pair suddenly striving to not bother others, but to peer, to witness, what talents existed between strangers and individuals.
As they followed the notes, it became apparent that the enchantress wasn’t an unfamiliar creature at all, but Lily. Melita’s intentions were to suddenly leap out of the shadows and gesture openly at her abilities, marvel at her capabilities, and maybe ask for pointers and tips (because quite frankly, the girl had no musical talents whatsoever). However, the sight of glowing horns advancing along the well-trod pathways and worn trails was a herald of incoming gifts. So she slipped quietly, as stealthy as she could with Fangorn right behind her, and tried to sidle up alongside Lily as she sang. “Great job,” she whispered, and then she pointed towards the bright, incoming figures, luminous and twinkling in the distance. “They’re coming!”
