MELITA
Sila pulled and tugged at a vine, dragon mouth closing over its tethers and lines with relative ease, but perhaps not the strength. Was it caught somewhere? She motioned downward in a gentle, easygoing thrall, following its pathway, until coming to a knotted and gnarled portion. The little bronze tilted her head, examining, hearing Melita’s words of encouragement from below and across the bond, but then there was something else – Fangorn gave a low rumble and the Honeybee instantly drew her bow, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, hand going for her quiver as something dark moved about the trees. “Sila, get down,” was the only warning the youth would utter, uncertain if the animal coasting through the boughs and branches would be aiming for a fledgling snack.
Heeding the notions, the miniature beast spiraled towards safety – Melita’s shoulder – and waited.
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
