Floating Key
08-18-2017, 11:19 PM
She was symphony of sounds, motions, and movements – embracing her prior tunes from Helovia, resounding in a cacophony of loud, boisterous noise, hooting in delight, laughing, chuckling, as the water cascaded in rough, raw waves. It made her feel powerful again, to watch the current change course for the barest of moments because she caused it, because she wanted it to alter, morph, in each abrupt sway. Her hooves crashed against the surface and it was a silly, illustrious opus, her incoming storm were a small flurry of showers, and when she opened her wings and fluffed her feathers into the sea, it was magnificent and mesmerizing. She forgot what the entire point of her sojourn had been, which crusade she’d been on, who she should’ve been looking for, or if danger lurked between these anarchic corners; only christening the realm with her amusement, her exhilaration, and her ebullience.
Sila pressed into her mind suddenly, swiftly, bluntly, but she was too absorbed in her play and diversion to think much of it – there were too many actions to explore, too many ways water could move, shift, and fly, and only on an echo of laughter did she hear the stranger’s voice bounding across the ripples.
The greeting stilled her ridiculous, frenzied movements to nothing but a quick turn of her head, a widening of her gaze, a foolish gasp shuttering from her throat. She said nothing at first, an intrepid, imprudent babe nestled, caught in the touch of the sea, in the salty brine of the ocean, with no protection, with no shelter, with no sanctuary. Her eyes darted first to Sila, the golden edges of the zephyr’s wings hovering along the sands, then swept her stare back to the newcomer. “Hi,” a timid juncture floated out from her lips first, like she feared the worst (because she’d known the worst), muffling her greetings as she studied her more. Her ears were the first things of note, long, much lengthier than she’d ever seen (did that mean she had better hearing? Could she catch every sound for miles?), and then her frame – because she was coated in stars; blankets and pockets of galaxies, of constellations, of the shimmering brilliance on a clear evening. So the honeybee child loosened the breath she’d been holding, sang a light hum beneath her whims, and prayed, fervently, that she could trust another etched in the horizon’s most splendid of hues. “I’m Melita.” Then she had a series of inquiries sculpt their way into her mind (where do you live? Do you know anything about this place? What’s it called? Have you seen my mother?), and only one – because perhaps there she could make a stand – managed to coax its way from her chest, from her soul, from her heart. “Would you like to play with me?”
Sila pressed into her mind suddenly, swiftly, bluntly, but she was too absorbed in her play and diversion to think much of it – there were too many actions to explore, too many ways water could move, shift, and fly, and only on an echo of laughter did she hear the stranger’s voice bounding across the ripples.
The greeting stilled her ridiculous, frenzied movements to nothing but a quick turn of her head, a widening of her gaze, a foolish gasp shuttering from her throat. She said nothing at first, an intrepid, imprudent babe nestled, caught in the touch of the sea, in the salty brine of the ocean, with no protection, with no shelter, with no sanctuary. Her eyes darted first to Sila, the golden edges of the zephyr’s wings hovering along the sands, then swept her stare back to the newcomer. “Hi,” a timid juncture floated out from her lips first, like she feared the worst (because she’d known the worst), muffling her greetings as she studied her more. Her ears were the first things of note, long, much lengthier than she’d ever seen (did that mean she had better hearing? Could she catch every sound for miles?), and then her frame – because she was coated in stars; blankets and pockets of galaxies, of constellations, of the shimmering brilliance on a clear evening. So the honeybee child loosened the breath she’d been holding, sang a light hum beneath her whims, and prayed, fervently, that she could trust another etched in the horizon’s most splendid of hues. “I’m Melita.” Then she had a series of inquiries sculpt their way into her mind (where do you live? Do you know anything about this place? What’s it called? Have you seen my mother?), and only one – because perhaps there she could make a stand – managed to coax its way from her chest, from her soul, from her heart. “Would you like to play with me?”
Melita
diamond in the flesh
@Anuya
