MELITA
Fangorn huffed and puffed, but truly didn’t mind the depths of the snow. While the rest of his kind had either been demolished or hidden away for the winter, he remained, just as before. So his vines whipped out as the pockets of the season rained down, firing back his own volley with increased ease and amusements. Melita crouched down idlely, forming a neat little snowball in between her hands, pressing it all together until it began to chill her fingers, humming lightly again.Special fabric for a baby blanket hadn’t even been a consideration in the honeybee’s mind – but given her lack of experience in such departments, she could only shrug her shoulders and hope Maeve knew best. She traipsed after the ruler with a keen, observing eye, looking over fabrics with some level of discernment, but was only ever convinced in ranges of hues and colors. So when her opinion was wanted, the youth instantly went for the press of sunsets and vivid hues. “This one,” she pointed and mustered a grin without hesitation, before spinning along, dipping her head towards other market-goers, peering at the specific wares. She might have to consider some manner of gift at some point, given the season, but with her family going entirely elsewhere, her options were suddenly, sorely diminished.
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
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
