MELITA
Light, airy steps were what she practiced now, bare feet pressing upon soft puddles and overflowing soil. “Quietly, remember,” she whispered to Sila, whose wings unfurled and passed beneath massive boughs, towers to the sky and canopies enriched by traces of Frey. Two sets of watchful eyes, one gilded, the other eerie and enigmatic, witnessed as the fledgling stretched herself further and further, until there was only a light chirp signaling she’d made it – independence blooming and blossoming amongst the eaves.“Excellent,” the Honeybee chirped in regard, before she and Fangorn did the same, either by gourd fumblings or dulcet strides. “You’re getting much stronger,” by way of commendation, before her gaze settled upwards. The dragon climbed higher and higher amidst the press of warm thermals and humidity, until Melita couldn’t quite tell what was bronze hide and angled branches. “Did you find any loose ones yet?” A hunt for sentient vines – ones not already predisposed to wrapping and coiling around anything else – not quite inclined to cut one apart just yet.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
