[se] stand up as horizons

MELITA

For once, the youth was hushed in her considerations. Of a goddess who loved a vast many, instead of a collected few, or if it was the other way around – how Sunjata had finagled his way in as he’d done with countless others. Promises of loyalty, of love, of protection, until it seemed to meander straight into futility. How long did those convictions last? Until the next impulsive wave? They were both impetuous to a fault; Melita would readily admit that with any emboldened jut of her chin and seditious brow – but she hadn’t spun her way into the earth the way her uncle had. “Well, I hope she comes to visit you anyway,” she murmured. It would still be a shame to not have a mother to guide her. If that was what Safrin would be inclined to do.

Fangorn returned once more with collections of sea glass; soft rumbles of eagerness in supplying his gifts. The vines dropped near her lap with aplomb, perhaps in an ease to make the situation more bearable, and the dulled edges were alive and awakened with color. A beautiful amber, caressed by salt and sea, a vibrant mulberry, wine tone, clearly from someone’s favorite bottle, and several other adornments of crimson, as if they’d been lost in the fire and frenzy of celebrations on the beach. Another affectionate pat and scratch was given and delivered, and Melita hummed while she worked, placing them in the center, to surround a proportion she’d eventually carve into the wake.

She muffled a snort at Kamaria’s response, but it still clung to the back of her throat in a blistered preamble. “I’ve stung him many times, and it doesn’t seem to do much.” Her eyes lowered, not looking upon the girl with her sudden grasp of inappropriate language, with faltering smiles and too many widened proportions. The reality snapping back into her – that her attempts meant nothing – and wondering why she bothered. Her voice quieted, eyes narrowed, pretenses of concentration upon the dunes and sand sculpted and whittled beneath her hand, creating an imposing, beautiful structure, as if that was all it would take to mean something to the fools she considered family. “He makes decisions without considering other people. He doesn’t ask.”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight