M E L I T A
Her ignorance in the world was obvious and bewildering, but lords, was she ever willing to learn. Her head swam with nuances and notions as the other woman entered their party, told her of the greatest perch in years, of a Spark Bird sent to earth; and a youthful reverence, a delightful awe, crossed along her features. “Spark Bird,” she murmured, quiet, mostly to herself, trying to imagine a beast with great, grand wings, embers on its feathers, releasing a fervor of fire and warmth. Perhaps it was like a phoenix, born to die and resurrect again, blessing the grounds it flew over, a god of the skies and infernos, capable of casting down disaster or benedictions. She wanted to see it – and the fever spread through her soul, the need, the greedy, mercenary, yearning, yielded from those days spent in hell, spilling blood so she survived, so she could have what she craved (sanctuary, a haven, a place to breathe). The girl would assist; there was no question, no need to back away, to flee into the hills; all she’d need was guidance, and her strength, her perseverance, her steadfast valor would do the rest.
Of course, she’d rushed into things, her nature, her essence, and while she memorized the names and faces, fixtures and enigmas, she realized she hadn’t given her own. “I’m Melita!” The notes were singsong, strong, a persistent blend of upheaval and compassion. She reached over to her gourd companion, noting he’d always managed to garner attention (not even thinking about how they’d certainly all managed to bludgeon these creatures constantly for weeks at a time), and held him aloft for the gathered to see. “This is Fangorn!” To his credit, the eerie stare of the pumpkin didn’t linger on anyone for long, and sensing his discomfort, Melita pulled him back into the safety of her arms while Rory described their task.
Responding with her usual aplomb, the girl’s glance fixated on the logs, the larger of the few looking like it’d be capable of holding up other beams and bars, maneuvering towards it while Fangorn bounded and bounced behind her. “Maybe this one could be the center? And we could dig a hole to place it in?” The rocks could be supportive measures while they attempted to put other things together…but she didn’t want to take the lead, to already ruin a tradition she’d yet to see or understand.
