MELITA
Torchline had always been intriguing in its people. Ready, willing, and able to brawl, to immerse themselves into every trial and tribulation, into smuggling and thievery proportions, capable of turning a blind eye when necessary – but just and certain when defending their own land. Melita had been entranced by the water, by the sea, and everything else had fallen into place. The governing proportion of Torchline seemed to be its own strange entity – because so much of the land seemed capable of presiding and reigning over itself. At one point, she’d wondered why they bothered with rulers and governors – if only to adhere to some proportion of gods and the like. “Torchline isn’t a very trusting place.” And she laughed, not in a mocking way, light and airy as her breath curled and coiled in warm plumes amongst the winter abyss. “I think if you just keep doing what you’re doing. Improve it. Help defend it.” Sunjata got away with a multitude of things, after all.While Melita began to place her haphazard rocks and stones for the eyes and mouth, she nodded at Maeve’s intention. Before long, the main proportion of its features had been managed, and the colors (easily recognizable from her own ventures at the Rainbow Road) caused her smile to widen. “Excellent.” She snagged at the sticks Maeve brought, placing them along the sides.
The companion’s work was something to be admired too. Fangorn grumbled and whistled and growled some obliging things, and then scraped along underneath snow for more stones (or begged the honeybee for extras). Copying their bondeds’ movements and motions, soon there was a little face (with fangs!) upon the head.
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
