MELITA
The statement gave Melita a pause as she stepped lightly into the snow, turning her head over her shoulder, brows furrowing in confusion. “Aren’t they your family? The one you’ve claimed and started on your own?” That Maeve hadn’t taken and snagged and held them tightly, closely, surprised the honeybee; but perhaps she’d been mistaken in the meaning. Families could be forged by blood and bonds with the rest of the earth – she’d had plenty considered brethren and kin simply by how they’d survived amongst one another. Leaving the notions and semblances behind, because there were too many lost in those foundations, she persisted with her rolling. The ball grew bigger and bigger, adding into the sticky form of snow with eager ease, until she’d found it a satisfactory size for the bottom layer, considering it once or twice before rolling it off to the side – out of the way for any other market goers.
She couldn’t hide the surprise on her face, head lifting quickly, brow quirking upwards in a defined arch, as Maeve proclaimed she’d never made a snowman. Before a notion of shock and what pressed across her tongue, the youth pondered – perhaps an entire lifetime in Torchline had been just that, with no venturing out into a world of snow. “Its easy,” she replied instead, the smile wearing back into place. “We have the biggest on the bottom, then we’ll make two more – a middle and a top! They'll be smaller so we can lift them, and it can look like a body. Then we can decorate it with sticks for arms, and stuff like that.” Rocks for eyes. Carrot for a nose.
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
