to be lit up from within
vein by vein
Melita didn’t frequent the Greatwood as much as she used to. But in assisting Maeve in several things, she found herself winding around both the familiar and unfamiliar roots and routes; marching to a steady beat in her boots, traipsing lightly through snow, stretching her long legs and accommodating Fangorn as they leapt their way amidst the pathways. The world was different, altered, under the glimpse of frost and blankets of powder, beautiful to behold, and she couldn’t help the warm smile dignifying her features; far better received than the frown or furrowed brows she’d been adorning lately.And then there was a strange noise she couldn’t recall hearing in these groves before. She paused, stilling, listening, and the vampire gourd in her arms did the same. They waited as time passed, until another. A jingle. Like bells on a sleigh. The honeybee turned, advancing, following as more and more echoed like a little, wild throng. Maybe she thought she’d find a horse-drawn carriage sweeping through the narrow passages. As if that would make any sense.
Which, as she glimpsed upon the figure in the snow, probably did hold a bit more to the narrative than this picture.
A black dragon – with some bug on his snout.
Rigid, surprised, stockstill again, the youth blinked. Fangorn didn’t quite know what to do either. The only dragons they’d ever come upon had been in Sunjata’s form (and this certainly wasn’t the Flood), or any monstrous thing they had to destroy. “Oh, um…sorry to bother you,” she squeaked, intending to turn back the way she’d came.
to be the sun
MELITA
