to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
Excitement and ebullience, things she might’ve coaxed along sea beds and waves over portions of glass, when she’d dove headfirst into the Dragon’s Throat oasis, rising up as a monster, or spelunking into a cave, desperate to see what was in store – avid reflections here, upon this stranger with leaves in his mouth and impassioned exclamations. They might’ve been a match in pure foolishness, and she didn’t care, yearning to stretch her legs, her limbs, her arms, her weapons, her motives, commit to anything but wallowing and grieving things she’d lost along the way.
The squirrel left, and while Fangorn thought about joining, a muffled protest surging from a growl, she can inspect him a bit more fully now – not someone she recognized at all, curly hair and freckles, youthful abandonment she would’ve remembered, recalled. “Hello!” She laughed, down from her tree, a pedestal, a paragon, she didn’t need to return to for the moment, eyes glancing away from him and onto the labyrinth for a second. “I do. I think we should.” And if there was too much mischief conveyed in her eyes, all the better, devilish declarations and challenges searing beneath her flesh – no need to coax, Kai just as willing. “I’m Melita!” And she extended her hand that wasn’t full of her staff, or the quiver laden and bounding against her back as she maneuvered, laughing at the comment about her hair. She’d never heard it described that way. More often than not she didn’t even brush it. Then she skipped and bounded for the entrance, “Thanks,” on her lips, on a giggle, on ethers of movement and motion, constantly maneuvering along trials and potential tribulations, the air of danger on the horizon. “Are you ready?”
The squirrel left, and while Fangorn thought about joining, a muffled protest surging from a growl, she can inspect him a bit more fully now – not someone she recognized at all, curly hair and freckles, youthful abandonment she would’ve remembered, recalled. “Hello!” She laughed, down from her tree, a pedestal, a paragon, she didn’t need to return to for the moment, eyes glancing away from him and onto the labyrinth for a second. “I do. I think we should.” And if there was too much mischief conveyed in her eyes, all the better, devilish declarations and challenges searing beneath her flesh – no need to coax, Kai just as willing. “I’m Melita!” And she extended her hand that wasn’t full of her staff, or the quiver laden and bounding against her back as she maneuvered, laughing at the comment about her hair. She’d never heard it described that way. More often than not she didn’t even brush it. Then she skipped and bounded for the entrance, “Thanks,” on her lips, on a giggle, on ethers of movement and motion, constantly maneuvering along trials and potential tribulations, the air of danger on the horizon. “Are you ready?”
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
