MELITA
Had the youth known, she wouldn’t have made it worse. Ignorant of the pain her words caused, she continued to volley and rally along, hands steady along the snow. “And besides, you have a lot of people in Torchline at your side. Maybe more than you realize.” She shrugged, nothing conspiring or contorting in her mind but the fabrics of reality and possibility, gloves smoothing out a portion of the smaller mound. Placing the head upon the middle proportion, she stepped back, surveying the outline with a critical, inspecting gaze – narrowed, gilded slits pondering the depths of their potential. “There, not too bad.” Her stare went very briefly to the companions’ work, which was adorable and not to be bothered; the initial round of mass likely incapable of supporting much of anything. But Fangorn seemed willing and able to help, and perhaps if they made something even smaller for the upper portions, it’d be decent.
Attention meandering to the Queen and honeybee’s creation, her head tilted for a moment, outlining the next set of directions. “Now we need some sticks for arms. Rocks for eyes. A carrot for a nose if we can find one.” Maybe the market still had some wares; uncertain given the season. But she glided easily over to some close stones, beginning to collect them in her palms.
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
