burn the house down

MELITA

The roar of the water didn’t serve to distract her, not when faced with a hum and chuckle, the unknown and familiar glancing, glaring back at her. He was much larger than herself, but mostly everyone was; an undaunted little thing brushed up against the sands, staff in her hand, whittling it in front of her body while she listened - poor name for a person though was a little disheartening. She hadn’t dubbed the man, the beast she recollected and recalled; but her sharp gaze took him all in now, now, now, harkening back to something she couldn’t quite place. The youth tilted her head back and forth, curious and inquisitive, insightful and prying, desperate to uncover just what was tugging at the back of her mind – a true diversion from trembling fingers.

It meant no? So it hadn’t even truly been a calling, a title, anything at all, just a statement uttered when she’d been nestled in curiosity. Perhaps that stung a little harsher than it should have, deep in her chest, in the bloom of her soul; another thing she’d traipsed along in as truth, a fixated memory of a time long gone, and it hadn’t held the same regard – he hadn’t corrected her, he hadn’t given her anything accurate, let her meander through the murk as something else entirely. “Oh,” she frowned, a wrinkle to her brow and nose, gilded gaze flickering down to the pebbles, stones, and sand at her feet, pushing her toes into their warmer embraces. The girl was marginally disappointed that her efforts hadn’t gone well, that in the end, there were other things built upon lies and misnomers. “Hm. He never said his real name then,” she muttered to herself, somewhat downcast and less amused. “He called me hommelby, but I didn’t know what that meant either.” Not versed in the language, or anything anymore, a sigh pulsed and billowed through her chest, and then her stare meandered closer to Fangorn, who pushed against rocks further down the shore. “He reminded me of a vulture.” She shrugged thereafter, not certain why this stranger would care about her rambling, nonsensical cues, the familiarity quite gone and vanquished already.

But when she looked back up, he was asking for who she was, likely trying to place where she fit in amongst foreign conversations and speeches. That was fair – she’d already proffered a ridiculous feat – and while she talked, while she offered again, the girl inclined herself closer to the water, a sudden yearning to pace above the current. “I’m Melita.” She didn’t catch the suspicion, one foot already braced along the swell of the surface. She tilted her head, glancing back over her shoulder at him, an echo, a reflection. “Who are you?”

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts