MELITA
Fangorn, ever the perennial survivor of the vampire gourds, ceased all movement when Darkeye approached. Had the man not been familiar, there likely would’ve been all manner of pandemonium and outcry, with loud rumbles and bared fangs and ridiculous hisses. But for the older warpriest, he gave a salutations of waving vines, before bumbling and grumbling his way to Melita. The youth glanced up from her latest snagging of driftwood, casting the dried stick in her arms with the rest of the lot. “Hey Darkeye,” she called. “How are you?” Permission to pass along the beach and all that, as she dropped her gathered portions in the same pile as before, figuring there should be a massive entity for future endeavors.
Sila, unaware of who or what this man was, immediately tucked her wings in and flew behind the honeybee.
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
