M E L I T A
Their getaway was swift and encouraging, and she allowed her mind to pay homage to needs rather than plentiful curiosities. Less predator, more ruffian girl, the youth lifted her head to inhale the fresh, beatific aromas curling and shifting from the food stalls. Per Rexanna’s advice, she dipped her head and swayed in their directions, stepping forward with light, ethereal motions, Fangorn still tucked in her arms, coming towards the Devas Bakery stall. She was instantly charmed by the décor, the flowers, the arrangements, smiling at the workers huddled nearby, awaiting more and more travelers and festive-goers, likely starving from their dances and further amusements. “Which ones did they make?” She swiveled her head back to her friend, but then her eyes were instantly entranced by everything else before her: the pastries looked divine, the rest of the concoctions and dough delicious. Her stomach rumbled again, a great, big gnawing thing, and she didn’t bother trying to hide it – Fangorn growled in reply.
Her gaze lilted towards the women at the stand and counter, then her stare traveled back and forth between
