MELITA
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done so poorly; what she believed was going to be a smooth conjecture, a rapid spin of her staff, ended with him darting out of the way again, and the youth would’ve huffed with a span of irritation and annoyance, had his staff not swung into her path once more. What on earth was going on? Had she always been so plodding and sedate? Was he simply faster than her? Based on height and weight differences, she should have easily thwarted some contortions and portions, but it’d all been for naught. Perhaps the blight had trickled into her veins far more than she realized, and despite its triumphant, treacherous motions, it also seeped and decayed – or maybe she just required more training, more emphasis on speed and diligence.Intending to push off the ground, back to a standing position to regard her combatant and ponder over another maneuver, she was briefly distracted by Fangorn’s snarl. Her head shifted to glance his way, and the vampire gourd was seething, hissing, rapacious, maneuvering forward as if to warn her, as if to do something other than exist on the snow –
When the girl felt it.
A sudden, agonizing blow kicked at her right knee and she was instantly thrown face-first into the cold, dark ground, leaves and moss and snow sticking to her face, a gasp unraveling in sheer panic and tormented agony. She refused to cry, to sob, glancing over her shoulder to see what had caused such a move, when a rocky fist seemed to extend her way – on instinct, she rolled, rolled, rolled, grabbing her staff and hastening away, dragging herself over sticks and nettles while her knee throbbed in absolute misery. Fangorn screeched and seemed intent on rampaging towards whatever the creature was, and Melita didn’t put two and two together, couldn’t fathom how it’d arrived there, why it manifested within the woods, why it had scorched over her limbs. “Fangorn, don’t!” The youth hollered, ignoring Loren completely, and her pained inhales, exhaled, slipped over her mouth like a dreadful wheeze; hands gong to clutch at her knee, swallowing down the choking bile, wishing she had her fire arrows, wishing she could do anything but throb. The gourd hissed and snarled, before going to her, and she fought, clenched her jaw, her plans sinking into the murk and mire of anguish. How stupid; how ridiculously stupid.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
