Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
She watched; never really quite the tutor, more or less the pupil in many circumstances. Ample opportunities to grow, especially when her personality demanded and exalted from it, especially when her tempestuous efforts sometimes caused a backslide. But she’d helped and assisted with enough people to get her point across, her demonstrations, the familiar, inherent disposition of the armaments between her fingers. So she ensured Aurelia heeded her advice, only grinning, shaking her head, at the perplexed expression registering along the other woman’s face – the depths of the Cheshire smile tipping into mischief, but not unsuitably so. Her eyes scrutinized, examined, putting up a ruse of pacing around the woman, hand going to her chin as if committed to an important inspection. “I suppose, you might be ready.”
Because she was doing the stance, and really, there wasn’t much more to do except try.
A promise of respect towards the weapon was a step in the right direction, and so Melita permitted the pretense of conceding. Bending down towards her stash again, she retrieved several training arrows, blunted edges, no serrated, pointed fringes where the wrong end could end up in an inexperienced individual’s foot. She handed one over, lifting her own bow to show how to notch it. “Like so,” and the honeybee placed it along the string, pulling the strand tight in her grasp. “When you think you’re ready, set your eyes on the closest target. The arrow will follow your sight.” The armament was connected to Aurelia’s body, and therefore, would willingly grace along its measures. In another volley of demonstration, Melita instigated her exact implications and predilections – resuming her stance, gilded gaze pinpointed on one of the farther targets, releasing the strand, and watching it fly through the air – a favorable schism landing into the goals’ midst.
Because she was doing the stance, and really, there wasn’t much more to do except try.
A promise of respect towards the weapon was a step in the right direction, and so Melita permitted the pretense of conceding. Bending down towards her stash again, she retrieved several training arrows, blunted edges, no serrated, pointed fringes where the wrong end could end up in an inexperienced individual’s foot. She handed one over, lifting her own bow to show how to notch it. “Like so,” and the honeybee placed it along the string, pulling the strand tight in her grasp. “When you think you’re ready, set your eyes on the closest target. The arrow will follow your sight.” The armament was connected to Aurelia’s body, and therefore, would willingly grace along its measures. In another volley of demonstration, Melita instigated her exact implications and predilections – resuming her stance, gilded gaze pinpointed on one of the farther targets, releasing the strand, and watching it fly through the air – a favorable schism landing into the goals’ midst.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
