M E L I T A
Melita was fortune to be in the presence of someone who knew exactly what needed to be done, and how to accomplish the task. She’d still be wandering around gathering objects here and there, then trying to figure out how or where to put the debris. While Emmett left to grab hold of his cart and other wares, the girl occupied herself by shuffling some of the larger objects outside, dragging them across the Rathskeller floor, and ducking down if anyone tried to catch her eye with the steady racket and din echoing along the threshold. Fangorn gave his best efforts in snatching a few papers with his teeth and bounding outside with Melita, close at her heels, spitting them out on the newly-assembled pile.
When Emmett returned, and she bowed her head in thanks again at his transformation and cart, she started loading up the transportation with the trash, the rubble, the ruin, the memories of LongNight. Content to contribute, she absorbed herself with the task, quickly, efficiently, securing the amount of debris until it didn’t seem capable of holding anymore. “Is that okay? It’s not too heavy?” She glanced his way, tilting her head, waiting for some confirmation, a donkey nod or shake of his skull. “I can follow you to the dump site, and then we can burn it!” The last few intonations were said in a boundless excitement, energetic and fervent, eternally entranced by fire and any other elemental properties she didn’t hold within her essence.
