MELITA
The Bone Bridge was a familiar landmark in the girl’s travels; built on audacity, boldness, and impulsivity – as if it were a challenge to tackle over and over and over again, scorched and segmented on challenge and upheaval. With LongNight’s end, the notions seemed to collect and start themselves all over again, her weapons bounding along her back as she skipped, staff in hand, quiver along her shoulder, entangled and unraveled in her melee. Fangorn concocted much of the same motions, striving to keep up with her lithe, sprite convictions, as they sprinted, as they raced, beneath the spring sun and the gentle breeze, scorching their way towards mist and fog.It would’ve been a labyrinthine conjecture had the girl not been experienced in these aptitudes and multitudes before, basking in the stretch of lost souls and adrift contortions, humming along on the outskirts of the bridge’s structure. Ahead though, there appeared to be someone else – her eyes narrowing slightly, head tilting at the notion of strangers in the midst – not Lily, though she’d gotten over her fear, and she couldn’t recall anyone else with such a head of hair. “Hello!” She called, hands cupped around her mouth, rummaging past lines and tethers, following after their movements, stepping lightly over the same memory mud as before. At some intervals, she casually pushed the muck aside, letting it fall to the brink of disaster below, steadily inclining her way along the structure, a hum under her breath, not a single notion of fear or trepidation.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
