MELITA
Confusion in the statements, in the transaction of unknown phrases, and she laughed in spite of all the mystery and enigmas surrounding it. “I’m not sure that I do either!” But the connotation had stayed the same, the entanglement surrounding it; punishment of some order, a shrug bridging along her shoulders again, dusting off her hands, streaking them with more mud when it wasn’t effective. “Maybe sometimes it’s all luck,” and she wrinkled her nose, not trying to offend him, or waylay his responses, but segmenting it to a point that they couldn’t convey or understand. Maybe they weren’t enough. Maybe they hadn’t tried to do everything else first. Maybe the gods had far better, greater, grander things to do. They could circumspect and ponder until the day was long, and it wouldn’t matter – no veracity, no answers along the bones and mist. “Try some different things? I’ve always left Ludo feathers, shells, shiny rocks or objects I’ve found.” Perhaps that had no bearings either – and just enticed and tempted instead of holding any true meaning – the weight more in their inquiries, their hearts, or their minds. Who was to truly say?She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
