M E L I T A
The honeybee girl had mixed feelings when the pumpkins were finally defeated. Despite their irritating presence, the gourds had given her a sense of purpose, striving towards precision in her marksmanship, diving into exploring new sights, new sounds, new people, and without them, she was a little lost again. The youth found herself glancing in between brush, ferns, and fronds, expecting the gnawing ankle-biters to be hovering nearby, casting themselves out, uttering their feral little growls. The way they’d tried to be menacing had almost been cute.
But then as luck would have it, as she hummed beneath her breath and wandered along the outskirts, a lone soldier remained. It was smaller than the others, something she could understand and reciprocate, and had managed to survive the great onslaught. She tilted her head in thought, in speculation, head pondering, wondering, how the tiny beast had escaped while the rest had been flung into the open air, pulverized into meals, or used as game ornaments. Perhaps it was smarter, cunning, wiser than its brethren, capable of hiding instead of reaching out to assail and siege monsters and demons far larger than it. The youth could respect that – she’d be one of the more bullheaded, tenacious individuals, trying to snap and claw, rip and tear, before a stranger secured her demise.
So, out of pure impulse, inclination, those spitfire, fey, whimsical moments bleeding and blurring through her veins – she decided she’d try to coax it, ensure it was always safe; the cherub had earned it.
There was another that seemed to have the same ideas and notions – her gilded gaze focused on the taller, darker man, listening to the tune he’d managed to conjure and control with his violin. Maybe the pumpkin would opt to follow the strings; but Melita wouldn’t give up without a fighting chance.
She crouched down and grabbed hold of the rabbit meat she’d stored in some of her pockets. Hadn’t the vegetables been lured by food, by the promise of blood, flesh, and sinew? It was worth a shot. Her right arm extended out towards the little one, proffering tinier bites of the rabbit, hoping it would be lured by the promise of a meal, and not the entangling tones from the stranger.
