Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
There was something going on. Which always seemed to be the case – and it touched over her wildfire throes with a vicious vengeance, forcing her to trace over what irked and exasperated into smaller flames, dousing cinders, breaking apart the coals. Maybe she’d lost the ability to talk to him after so many intervals of time, space, confusion, and disharmony; never truly understanding the ins, the outs, the whys of his actions. Maybe her sense of reason and his semblance of justifications never measured in parallels, and it stuck out more and more as time wove and wore on.
She didn’t understand though, and the confusion was a palpable thing, marked by the crease in her brows, the tilt of her head, the edge of her mouth drawn into a frown. The snacks and treats, to be shared and adored to a creature she’d cherished just as much as her own, were tossed back. She caught them unceremoniously, listening to the bag crinkle, watching as they settled back into her palm. “Oh,” was a quiet thing, dull and muted, lifeless and stark. “I figured you just didn’t want to see me,” and that was the blunted edge of it. Perhaps she couldn’t blame him. Perhaps she always would. It was difficult to parse through, and not any easier now.
Her fingers pressed, then closed, around the objects, while Fangorn’s vines reached for them, eager to be indulged where he didn’t understand. It took her a few moments, a few key seconds where she spun herself into silence and watched, listened for the matters left unsaid. Haai - not here anymore - gone. And Melita felt that lurch of her heart, the brief panic, the notions of losing another begin to quicken her pulse. “Where is she now, then?”
She didn’t understand though, and the confusion was a palpable thing, marked by the crease in her brows, the tilt of her head, the edge of her mouth drawn into a frown. The snacks and treats, to be shared and adored to a creature she’d cherished just as much as her own, were tossed back. She caught them unceremoniously, listening to the bag crinkle, watching as they settled back into her palm. “Oh,” was a quiet thing, dull and muted, lifeless and stark. “I figured you just didn’t want to see me,” and that was the blunted edge of it. Perhaps she couldn’t blame him. Perhaps she always would. It was difficult to parse through, and not any easier now.
Her fingers pressed, then closed, around the objects, while Fangorn’s vines reached for them, eager to be indulged where he didn’t understand. It took her a few moments, a few key seconds where she spun herself into silence and watched, listened for the matters left unsaid. Haai - not here anymore - gone. And Melita felt that lurch of her heart, the brief panic, the notions of losing another begin to quicken her pulse. “Where is she now, then?”
I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
