Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
“Yes!” Melita highlighted in a fist pump, where more flakes of mud flickered off of her, falling to the ground, at Milo’s insight. “And trap and snare you! It’s brilliant, really.” Foolproof leagues of swamp witches and the unrelenting course of imagination filled her heart and steps, completely unbothered as they began to roam directly into the path of those same gnarled, old trees and creeping vines. She hopped lightly, and Fangorn would maneuver out of the way, not yearning to be launched upon.
But she’d inspired some snickering and laughing, which made this ridiculous trip worth it. Her brow furrowed slightly at the indication and inclination of icing to coat the gingerbread house from potential rain, pondering it deeper and deeper as they continued to amble along their pace. “Wouldn’t she have an ant problem then? I couldn’t imagine the bug infestation.” The honeybee shrugged her shoulders, wrinkling her nose, forging a grimace; though not over the child-eating aspects, which were a prominent feature in many fables and myths. “Sounds like more trouble than it’s worth, honestly.”
But she’d inspired some snickering and laughing, which made this ridiculous trip worth it. Her brow furrowed slightly at the indication and inclination of icing to coat the gingerbread house from potential rain, pondering it deeper and deeper as they continued to amble along their pace. “Wouldn’t she have an ant problem then? I couldn’t imagine the bug infestation.” The honeybee shrugged her shoulders, wrinkling her nose, forging a grimace; though not over the child-eating aspects, which were a prominent feature in many fables and myths. “Sounds like more trouble than it’s worth, honestly.”
I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
