MELITA
The pathway opened up to residences and settlements, ghosts of wood smoke fanning into the air, curls and wisps, not unlike the parting clouds, except they carried distinctive smells, the notion and nature of returning to civilization. He didn’t quip back at her blunt statement, only a that’s true and a lighter shrug of his shoulders, no harm, no foul, seemingly no ill will spread or spouted at her. He would’ve far earlier anyway – and she had visions of a life ended with hands around throats and a shove into the water, drowned or obliterated in the pulsing beacon of hatred and vehemence – none of that here, none of what could’ve been. For all his notion of vengeance, he didn’t incite it towards her, and she breathed again – the clarity expanding, new friends emerging from darker outlines and looks. She was not a wanted child, but that didn’t diminish her, that didn’t stifle her, that didn’t defeat her. At his insistent on not returning to his former world, Melita hummed a little, twisting back towards Fangorn, beckoning him with a few pats to her leg as the gourd became distracted by something in a nearby bush. “Does Caido have more to offer you?” Her curiosity bounded and leapt again – because at least he had something, when the rest of them seemed to have naught. Helovia was torn asunder, ripped apart, nothing but shadows and destroyed dreams, lined with rubble and desecration. The Rift was a siphon of terror and treachery. Caido had more to proffer and extend to her simply by way of occasional glee, not constantly riddled with torment and unease.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
