[SE] Catch the Sun Before It Sparks Afire

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

For Melita’s part, she understood a couple notes and refrains from Jigano’s beak: his name, something about legs, and fire. Her eyes went back to the insect in her hand, eyeing the flinty-like substance coating their legs, and she let out a very chipper cry. “Oh!” It was almost excited, having always containing and hoarding a penchant for fire – perhaps in her blood, a girl of dust, sand, reverent to a god long since gone, but once emblazoned with light and infernos – but then her stare went to the lengthy fields of grass. She could comprehend the danger here, for Rory’s farm, for everything laden in between, should just the right spark settle along dried reeds, curl them into a roaring conflagration, twisting, turning, swallowing, and devouring in its bewitching wrath and ire. Ordinarily, she was a creature of mayhem and bedlam, but only for those that deserved the comeuppance, for demons who lanced their claws down innocents’ backs, for monsters who thrived on others’ miseries and calamities. Neither Rory, nor anyone else in the vicinity, warranted the haunting flames and embers. She nodded to the talking raven, resolve segmented to her heart, lungs, body, and soul, instigating and inciting a rabble-rousing frenzy to her companion. “Fangorn, get ‘em!” Even though the gourd had already readily applied himself to the task, he did so with gusto now, reverting back to the arcane, ancient survival mode of his lineage before him. He was fast and swift, and the speed he once used to escape the grasping nails of human hunters, were now extended into his own carnivore instincts, grabbing hold of more and more flinthoppers, ripping them apart with no hesitation. It might’ve been difficult to watch, a great, grand slaughter, but Melita rarely flinched from disaster and ruin, not anymore. Instead, she launched into the same frenzy, hands struggling to grab hold of anymore within her reach, missing a few when she forgot to ground herself, when she failed to apply those honing capabilities so many of her favored instructors had tried to drill into her. Slow down, and she breathed, became one with the earth, with the fire, with the wind again, steadied; and shot her hand out to ensnare two more, crushing them in her grasp, placing their carcasses in her basket. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe