MELITA
Fangorn decided to assist, in his own, small, infinitesimal way. While the youth laughed and clambered along in the wild display of mud volleying, the little gourd grabbed hold of some of the muck in his fangs, tracing over brush and grass, hoping it provided him with some cover, with some camouflage, before attempting to angle his way towards the stranger. Without arms or hands, his range would undoubtedly be amongst the pathetic, but being bonded to Melita meant always striving, always trying, even when it seemed unlikely at best. So he ducked down, closer and closer, then strived to place the blob on the man’s nearest foot, before hastening off in the other direction – cackling gleefully.For Melita’s part, she only had a moment to be somewhat nonplussed about her miss (she’d been training in accuracy and precision for gods’ sakes). The way he fell afterwards left her in a zeal of humor, doubled over in peals of ethereal laughter, no longer light but something ebullient and ridiculous, tears streaming down her face at the notion of this fool sinking right into the mud. Even as he flung it, she didn’t truly bother to move, too hung up on the display, and it pelted into her right knee, a squishing sound against the fabric of her dress. Indifferent and uncaring towards his aim, not even bothering to wipe it away, wearing it like a badge of honor, much like the matching accord on her shoulder, on her lean, she grabbed hold of another portion of slimy silt. Finally managing to curl up to full height, grounding her weight into the expanse, on another roughened contortion of laughter, she hurled and harpooned, intending to get him while he was down.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
