M E L I T A
Melita followed along once Emmett informed her that the weight was manageable (she didn’t want to burden him, and the way he’d walked earlier indicated some sort of wound), humming a little tune under her breath as Fangorn bounded behind. Her fingers grabbed hold of some debris loosened by the wagon’s journey across cobblestones and marred streets, but otherwise the journey seemed to go smoothly.
When they ultimately arrived at the determined location, and Emmett’s question extended to her…Melita grimaced. The slightest frown puckered its way down her brows and along her mouth, and she inwardly winced at her stupidity. Of course, when she’d begun her cleaning and sprucing up the Rathskeller, she hadn’t intended to be lighting anything ablaze, and hadn’t thought to bring anything incendiary. “Give me just a second!” Then she raced headlong down the streets, Fangorn in hot pursuit, hair wild and savage behind her, until she was ultimately a blur of crimson. Once she returned to Iskra’s home, breathless, she grabbed hold of the flint she knew was loitering by the windowsill, and returned swiftly back to the chosen spot for a blaze. “Sorry,” she panted, cheeks flushed and rosy, heart beating a firm, clear rhapsody, but ebullience wide and encompassing. “I have some flint. It should catch fairly quickly.”
Once they’d unloaded the debris again, she bent down next to a collection of newspaper and broken pieces of wood, perfect for kindling. “Before I start it though, do we have anything to put it out?” That’s all they’d need – a fire spreading through the domiciles and settlements. No matter her excitement in a potential inferno, she didn’t bear a willingness to see anyone harmed or marred by her exploits.
