a eulogy for roads untraveled

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

It seemed to take a while for the dragon to oblige. Maybe it was pride – Melita had seen it in all the leathery wings and brilliant elements before in the Throat – as if they born with the emotions instilled within their mighty frames. And perhaps they were deserving of it, but the ones who were companions had to be capable of showing and utilizing some measure of restraint. Otherwise, how would they forge onward? Listen to commands?

So she watched and waited, eyes widening as the beast bowed, echoing and reverberating a mournful sound, some declaration of regret conformed even in the midst of not quite being able to understand. This one was clear and concise. Melita was even more surprised when the dragon turned and twisted, showing vulnerable portions, and seemingly composed for a vicious torrent of her staff again.

But she shook her head; having seen enough. “That is fine.” Then she lowered the gourd back to the sand, permitted him to gesture forward. “Do you accept the apology?” Fangorn’s eyes went from hers, and back to the upside down facets and features of Umbra’s face, grumbling something that sounded like acceptance. “There,” she said, dashing her hands together, as if to wipe away the bits and pieces of chaos. “No more of that and we’ll be right as rain.”

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury