Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
Her feet, her strides, meandered quietly into the waving grass, the outstretch of trees. She knew better than to fling herself into the terrain now, to hone in the ebullience, the effervescence, the fervent twitches and pulsations in her blood, and merely to stalk, to savor, the glimpses of silence. The temptation in audacity still bolstered, still heightened, still rolled through her limbs, a surrounding storm, a pervading savagery – but she kept them contained, coiled, for the eventual rampage. Saved, placed aside, for the demonstration of ferocity.
The youth and her gourd meandered slightly away from her uncle, pausing every now and again to glimpse, peeking over stumps and fallen logs, around larger trunks of trees, over bounds of blades. It was her, instead of Fangorn, who saw and found them first, a speckling of blue, feathers and plumage, beneath boughs, rankling in shade, along a knoll. Crouching down lower, not intending to be caught, she sent the pumpkin towards Sunjata, where her companion could grumble and hiss quietly, inform him what she’d found. Then she tightened her bowstring.
The youth and her gourd meandered slightly away from her uncle, pausing every now and again to glimpse, peeking over stumps and fallen logs, around larger trunks of trees, over bounds of blades. It was her, instead of Fangorn, who saw and found them first, a speckling of blue, feathers and plumage, beneath boughs, rankling in shade, along a knoll. Crouching down lower, not intending to be caught, she sent the pumpkin towards Sunjata, where her companion could grumble and hiss quietly, inform him what she’d found. Then she tightened her bowstring.
Melita
