MELITA
Fangorn, despite being all snarls, hisses, and growls, was utterly delighted at the companionship and camaraderie, sorely used to trailing after Melita’s constant, bounding movements and motions, well trained in the art of leaping and crashing into the ground. It was a nice release of pent-up energy, chasing after the fledgling, and then alternating, hiding and ducking behind either Sunjata or Melita when the timing was right, before launching off again. For all the things she’d done, orchestrated, seen, and witnessed, the honeybee girl likely shouldn’t have ever judged. It wasn’t to say she didn’t, or couldn’t; sometimes faith, credence, and beliefs held a steadfast conviction even her devilish intonations couldn’t ignore, but her threshold for dangerous, treacherous legions was far higher than most. The youth knew the sparks of vengeance, the visceral condemnation of revenge, how it sizzled in blood, in veins, in arcs for eternity, simmering just behind one’s eyes or smile, heathen factions and irreverent collisions. She had really nowhere to put her vitriol and vehemence now though, unless Kiada counted, and even then, the maddening debauchery of wrath, contempt, and abhorrence couldn’t go anywhere but in her bones and in her flesh. No one was coming back. None of her family would return. None of those bright, brilliant, beautiful souls sacrificed for nothing – out of duplicity, out of deception, out of cruelty and callousness – were going to rise from the grave and live once more. So she had her indulgences, her moments, her startling irreverence and sedition burrowed into her soul – alive and incensed when the timing was right, when something drove her to revolution and turmoil.
She wouldn’t fault him, if he’d ever asked, if he’d ever told.
But the girl still smiled at his statement, snorting and laughing, placing one of her hands under her chin, elbow crooked along her upswept knee. Strong women; like she’s amongst them. A sense of pride lifted her straighter, her other palm resting on her staff. “So what are you going to be up to now, besides the bar?” And flying in his new Attuned form, and taking care of the newfound griffin – which rankled the slightest smirk upon her face again.
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
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
