[seasonal event] the chorus will come in

MELITA

A gaggle of voices and exuberant splintered through the air, and Melita could only catch glimpses of movement and motion – very wild, energetic, enthusiastic children rampaging their way through the ruins. Had she been their age, she would have eagerly joined and split the day with uproar and ardor too. The youth could unleash full pandemonium when she put her mind to it – loud and obnoxious, howling like a banshee, roaring like a monster. Unfortunately, despite the craving and yearning to simply play, her curiosity stemmed the outreach, and she found herself listening to the brim of Roana’s words.

“Capturing the sun?” Her head tilted, leaning closer to Roana, and Fangorn maneuvered himself closer to Melita's chest (as if the boys might somehow come and grab him, take him away to some dark, dangerous, small child oblivion). “What does that mean?” Her eyes lifted up to the heavens, knowing full well the sun could never be captured, it was far beyond the sky, their grasp, their hopes, and their dreams. It’d once been her favored God, destined to be a beatific star blazing in the undying heavens – until that was gone too. Where had such a tale originated? Why were they using baskets? Were they meant to snag sunshine? What would they do it with it when they were gone? Did it require a more spiritual understanding, a notion she hadn’t fathomed in so many seasons?

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