Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
Last time Melita had frequented the Oerwould, she hadn’t gotten very far. Peter had been a distraction, an attentive, amusing one, but her movements hadn’t sprung towards luminescent leaves and overgrown forests, save for a few ferns, and some intriguing fauna. She bounded into the warren like a moth to a flame, the staff in her hands, humming a tune to match the bird calls amidst the warm, smoldering air.
She was half inclined to climb some of the trees, to reach the top of the canopies, to become immersed in the shade and shelter – but another time, perhaps. There was some other stranger nearby, but she didn’t pay them much mind at all, and instead, began to race along, launching, stepping upon stumps, over vines, with exuberance and rash, impulsive, brazen light. She called to Fangorn on a little howl, and the vampire gourd slipped and jumped along the brambles, before passing by the other individual entirely; a piece of the wilderness herself. “Hello!” She waved, and then continued, persisting, pursuing, nothing and everything all at once.
She was half inclined to climb some of the trees, to reach the top of the canopies, to become immersed in the shade and shelter – but another time, perhaps. There was some other stranger nearby, but she didn’t pay them much mind at all, and instead, began to race along, launching, stepping upon stumps, over vines, with exuberance and rash, impulsive, brazen light. She called to Fangorn on a little howl, and the vampire gourd slipped and jumped along the brambles, before passing by the other individual entirely; a piece of the wilderness herself. “Hello!” She waved, and then continued, persisting, pursuing, nothing and everything all at once.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
