[SE] high and flighty

MELITA

Friendly and outgoing: she hadn’t met others like that lately, not with blights, not with pestilences, not with LongNight pounding down on their skulls and shoulders. It helped her to settle in, a comfortable, easygoing stature surrounding her presence, much less the huntress now, more the sprite, more the inquiring, curious, emboldened youth. “Where are you from?” He was cheeky, but not malicious or cruel, not savage or cantankerous, allowing and permitting a fair amount of information; and she was woefully ignorant of anything about the upcoming world. “Oh – the new world. Have you heard anything else about it?” She’d been out of the news, the comings and goings, straying far far away from anything once the sickness had spread through her, peeling away all those layers she’d strived so hard to contort and control. Portals hadn’t been on her radar. Enduring, persevering, and surviving had been front and center, and then little else.

“Pleased to meet you Amun,” her features enveloped and sculpted in another airy, ethereal, ebullient grin. While she prodded at the earth, strength undulating in muscles utilized in training, in getting better, stronger, the questions drew towards her bonded, as they often did. Half the time others were wary, due to their own experiences with the goblin exploits in the autumn, and half were simply uncertain about what to make of a living, breathing gourd – fair, she decided. “This is my companion, Fangorn.” The being hissed and growled, a rumbling conflagration that didn’t hold much meaning besides acceptance and tolerance of the man, before proceeding to nestle around her ankles again. Unfortunately, the shaft comment went right over the girl’s head, and she only removed the staff from the sanction when the area was deemed deep enough for planting, drawing it back to another section to conjure and conduct the same actions.

Her nose wrinkled at the inquiry, but only because she should’ve. “Not really. My mother was a healer, but I didn’t pay much attention to the herbs or how she cared for them.” The little garden in the oasis, the way the sprouts still managed to grow despite the sand, rising, rising, rising towards the sun. Melita had been too busy fighting or becoming imaginary monsters in the sea, running, chasing, scrambling around in curiosity – and then, soon after, it’d simply been too late.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts