A woman scorned will often seek avenues of release for frustration. Though she isn't ordinary woman, Melina is no different.
Special thanks to volunteer editor stbkvln!
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Chapter 8
A cloud of dry splinters shot into the air as the massive limb came free, cracking deeply and reverberating like a thunderbolt off the neighboring trees. Melina's furious screams accompanied the snapping and creaking of dry wood as it was massacred in a flurry of clawed hands and black hair. The surrounding landscape seemed to have fallen into a stunned silence as it watched her attack. When the tree had been shredded into kindling, she looked up to see a grunting tarhide boar, aggressively tossing its head from fifty feet away. The territorial creature pawed the earth and squealed when she made eye contact, making a grand show of its threat.
Melina crouched low on all fours and bellowed back at it, then preempted its charge by surging towards it. The tarhide turned and fled in an instant, and she pulled short of pursuit by catching herself on another tree branch. She panted from the exertion, and her rage faded when she looked back at the pile of wood chips and splinters she'd created.
Melina growled and scaled a wide-limbed oak nearby, perching atop one of the upper branches to catch her breath in the warm breeze. The soft rustling of leaves and twigs brought her chaotic thoughts bubbling to the surface, demanding to be recognized.
How dare he!
was chief among them. How dare Vardan show such disdain for her basest nature? How dare he look down upon her for doing what she'd always known; for not thinking to question herself, when it hadn't even been a possibility? How was she to know? And was her clear willingness to learn from him utterly meaningless? Melina found herself looping back into the thought which had set her into a frenzy:
Was Vardan right? Did I deserve it?
Could it be undone? Her countless victims, taken over the course of many long years, would be impossible to find even if she could. In the past, that fact alone would have been justification enough for Melina to avoid troubling herself with such introspection. But today, it was insufficient. A terrible guilt gnawed at her insides, and an entirely new emotion broke forth: sympathy.
While she was an empathetic creature by nature, feeling what others felt was an autonomic occurrence which required little effort on Melina's part. But imagining what others might be feeling, speculating on their emotions and lives, was a new concept. An exhausting one.
She wilted as tiredness and hunger seeped into her limbs, and began grooming splinters out of her hair while taking in the view from her vantage point. She could see the town sprawled beside the river below her, miles away, with dozens of humans scurrying about. The foothills and mountains at her back cast an imposing shadow as the sun began to set, taking the edge off of the day's heat and stirring up a wonderful breeze. And though she'd made plenty of noise, no nearby humans seemed to have heard her.
She already missed having someone to speak to, and could have used the additional insight now more than ever. But Melina had begun to lose focus, and grown weary of running through the same thoughts all afternoon. Whether she stayed in the same town to attempt to reconnect with Vardan, or left the very next day, she needed to feed.
She scampered down the oak and ran back towards the town, flying over the open ground with a spark of exhilaration. She retrieved the green clothes from where she'd stripped them off and draped them over a branch, taking care not to dirty the fabric in the process. Even in her irrational state, she couldn't bring herself to destroy so beautiful.
When Melina reached the outskirts of the town, she asked passersby for the location of the Owl and Nightingale inn, and then looped around to the opposite side of town to ensure she didn't encounter Vardan accidentally. Though the sun had long since disappeared behind the mountains to the west, the sky was only just beginning to lose its light, and lanterns were being preemptively lit along the streets. The nearby river had finally begun to cool the air, and a lively chorus of crickets and frogs began their nightly songs.
Melina wasn't entirely certain what she was searching for when she wandered towards a cacophony of music and merriment, but knew that she was interested in what had drawn such a lively crowd. When she turned a corner, she saw an inn with its walls still rolled up, overflowing with light and noise. This was no small room with a dancing girl and single musician; there was surely a spectacle to be enjoyed. She hurried inside, brushing past an array of couples dancing near the entrance, and took in the sight of the massive high-ceilinged room.
In one corner was a troupe of musicians, all clad in deep blue, playing a jaunty tune which the crowd clapped along to. A fiddle, tambourine, and flute accompanied the juggler weaving deftly between stools and tables. Two dozen smiles looked up at him as he timed each step with the rhythm of the music, and his mastery of the routine was as visible as the clothing he wore. His eyes were bright and gay as he added shows of skill and balance, hopping lightly to a stool, then a table, much to the delight of all seated nearby. At one point, his foot flicked an apple upward from a patron's plate into his whirling circle, and he bit a mouthful of it with each pass through his hands.
Melina glanced away from the performance briefly to see someone rising from a stool at a full table, leaving what seemed to be the only free seat in the building. She quickly settled into it, drawing a number of peeved glances from those around her, as if its previous occupant still owned the space. She paid them no mind, instead looking curiously at the musicians. Each of the troupe was long and lanky, with thin limbs and dark skin. The fiddler in particular caught Melina's eye, as it seemed her skin was as black as her hair. But upon closer inspection, it was clear that her flesh was etched with an intricate pattern of tattoos on nearly every surface. Her outfit covered only half her torso, and barely a third of her legs, showing that the tattoos coated all but her palms and face. A small pattern even traced up the side of her neck to her half-shaved scalp, where it terminated in a twisting vine.
Melina looked back to the juggler as the crowd erupted in laughter and applause. He'd returned the apple core to the plate he'd stolen it from, juices dripping down his chin as he attempted to chew a massive volume of the fruit. His cheeks bulged comically.
"A fine show, as always!" exclaimed a man to Melina's right, struggling to be heard over the rhythm kept by the crowd. She turned to see a young, rough-looking man in frayed clothes, stained with sweat. He raised his eyebrows and blinked quickly while looking her over.
"Something the matter?" asked Melina with a wry smile. She found herself cocking her head just so, fiddling flirtatiously with a strand of hair, delighting in the youth's attempt to remember which language he spoke. His freckled cheeks reddened. She pictured leading him by the hand out and away from the crowd, stripping him of all clothing and pretense, and taking him before he'd fully realized what was happening. Considering how he'd been dazzled with a single look, he would have likely gone along with anything she'd suggested.
