M E L I T A
Despite Fangorn’s muffled protests, Melita’s hand reached for Auni’s gentle, endearing face, stroking the soft fur along the bridge of his nose. She nearly asked how Kiada had received such a wonderful companion, for she remembered them in the midst of the wild, glowing and vibrant, a rush of light in the approaching darkness, but thought better of it. If she craved to tell the story, then it would come with time, as so many things often did on the march of minutes, hours, days, and seasons spent recovering from anguish.
But it always stayed somewhere in one’s soul, nestled and wrapped tight, either thorned or angelic. The barbs still stung, and the warmth still glowed, and everything else curled and coiled around it was how they tried to move on.
Her eyes flicked away from Auni and back to his bonded, but her fingers continue traipsing along his nose, above his eyes, the tiny nubs where future antlers will grow. Kiada’s face was an avid reflection of the Long Night’s hold on all of them, and Melita understood, far too well, the wall the other girl had yet to face, yet to climb. Emotions became better with time, or they simply didn’t; everyone and everything was different, situations and scenarios altered, sliding into places unseen, unheard. Hearts broke and minds splintered. Anger spiked and vengeance was vowed, assured, pressed along lips and spewed out with such vivid venom that the whole world would know, would comprehend, the lengths young, vicious, little girls would go. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she proffered, the smile dimming because maybe now wasn’t the time for grins and delight. “But you’re welcome. I know how it feels to lose someone.”
Almost everyone her skull inclined, words almost resounding past her teeth and over her tongue. They stayed behind her lips through the tenacity of their beholder, but the burn was already there again, steady, a fuming, curling flame. Her mother was first, always first, beautiful and incandescent, a healer, a mender, ready to sacrifice herself for her children without a moment’s hesitation. The rest unfolded in the murk and mire of the Rift’s calculations, of a false god’s promises, of the way the earth swayed and sent them all straight into hell.
Thereafter, at Kiada’s offering of assistance, the honeybee girl gave one last pat to Auni’s cheek, and finally returned back to her task, grabbing hold of the next pot and digging into that soil too. “If you’d like.” She paused, brow furrowing, nose curling in thought, the mercurial, tempestuous emotions gathering alongside her, bending, brewing, pondering. “I thought we could put some flowers in? Give this place a little more cheer?” Her main goal had been to reflect upon spring and sweet fronds, basking blossoms and blooms, maneuvering away from the eternal abyss of Long Night’s devastating reach. She didn’t say it was to honor Clementine either; the girl would’ve loved the sweet wind, the warm breeze, the promise of rebirth and renewal, the delicate songs uttered by chirping, swooping birds. That was kept in the back of her mind, amidst the moments of bliss and joy, flower crowns and buzzing bees, before demise descended.
