M E L I T A
She was eager to move, eager to run, eager to push and shove her way through the undergrowth, a silly little heathen with her wild locks and untamed eyes. But her gaze flickered over to Vervain, clearly with child, and considerations would have to be made, established; no impulsive, sudden motions away, away, away into the thorns and brambles, into monstrous shadows, into calamity and audacious splendor. At the very least, the other woman had agreed to follow the wayward swarm with their light buzzing and pleasant humming, so Melita’s steps were ethereal and airy in their zest, at Vai’s side, and not racing off into the next clearing.
Perhaps the bees sensed their intentions, and began to draw themselves forward, still fixating a melody into the copse, drawing the ragtag youth, her companion, and the healer into their orbit. The mender seemed eager to discuss the colony though, and Melita’s experiences with bees only continued to further her curiosity, her insight, into the difference and ways the hive manifested themselves. “Honey would be heavenly!” She nodded rapidly, in accordance and agreement with finding some stockpiled sweets the insects wouldn’t notice or mind rationing. The youth hummed again too, attempting to match their pitch and tune, Fangorn at her heels, leaping and bounding quietly despite the drenched, dampened soil and withered leaves, then continued musing aloud with her newfound companion. “Maybe this is just a swarm, and they’re attempting to protect their queen.” They kept maneuvering onward, and Melita did the same, not to be outdone or outmatched by flocks of whistles and harmonies. Was their hive nearby, and they’d lucked out? Her eyes darted over patches of collected bees, little, vigilant guards, settled on trees and branches, before the others flickering and flying about.
