M E L I T A
His explanation was all the encouragement she required. Her vocals were a burst of ardent energy, obvious fervor for impending destruction, even if it was just scraps and garbage. “Sounds good to me!” Melita’s attention diverted to clearing a path with her feet, ensuring there was some space where nothing else could catch and send an inferno where it was not required. “All right, here we go!” Fangorn leapt back, because he was well aware of her flying limbs and potential for raucous endeavors; she was action and reaction, lowering the flint to the ground as she began to strike a rock against its existence.
Sparks flew; it didn’t take long at all for the dried goods and trash to be eaten up by the conflagration’s uprising. She watched, coaxed with a few exhales, lowering herself to obtain adequate access to the tiny embers, then retreated when it began to devour and consume the debris. It was pleasant and satisfying to witness the fringes of LongNight and its outreach suddenly engulfed by fire, as if it could dissipate, disappear, behind more and more moments; the ugliness forgotten, forged away for another day, another season. She folded her arms and simply watched, eyes paying attention to where the blaze crept, at the ready to heave dirt or a bucket over its ravenous exploits. “There, we did it,” she announced, proud and triumphant, confident and self-assured, chin slightly raised, a daring little speck of dust fanning flames.
