Mel swung her body in circles, spinning round and round the fire dancing along her sides, her constant companion since her mother had taught her fire-taming when she was six. Her feet were sore and covered in rough callouses from dancing in all kinds of places -- the woods, mud, stones, hot pavement, all of it. As her clothes billowed around her, a melody bubbled from her mouth, filling the cool, summer air with a passionate, ancient song. The fire followed suit, bobbing and weaving with her movements through the sand.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the eye of one of her companions, a young man named Mott, watching her with curious, tawny brown eyes. Alongside him was his brother, Jack, who took a few steps back every time the fire crackled, scowling whenever she sang a line from the song -- he wasn’t fond of anything religious and Mel’s songs were no exception. Mott, on the other hand, occasionally joined in on her songs if he could remember the words. It was usually enthusiastic mumbling than anything else.
Mel let the fire roll over her and up her arms, caressing her russet skin and reflecting off of her black hair. Fire was her closest friend and had never let her down. It would bite you if you weren’t careful, but Mel usually was. If she asked, the flames would answer if given the proper incentive -- especially when it came to combat.
Jack took a few steps forward, then flinched as she came close. Absently, Mel wondered if she could hold off the mission long enough for the others to catch up to them if she didn’t stop dancing. She was almost tempted to pull Jack into the dance, but that would be cruel.
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A piercing whistle broke the song, startling her out of her trance.
“Hey!” Jack crossed his arms and stood his ground as if he knew exactly what Mel was thinking. “We need to get moving, Fireweaver.” He called her street-name as if it were something to be used as a curse. Mel sighed and whispered to the flames, dampening them down to a soft, warm glow on the sand around her feet. She could feel each and every grain as she shifted from foot to foot, the small rocks leaving temporary tattoos on her skin, unlike the ones already on her body.
With the fire now gone, Jack’s courage had returned. “Enough with the rituals. We need to leave before the Dream Eaters move and we miss them again.” His face darkened, his mouth forming a set line. “Show them no mercy.” With that, he stalked off, grabbing Mott by the arm and hauling him off toward the camp to start packing. Mott sent her a weak, apologetic smile, stumbling after his older brother. Mel shook her head and stared up at the stars as if it were the last time she was going to see them.
It certainly could be, she thought, taking comfort in the thought that they were the same stars no matter where she was. The moon as though it was hung by a silver thread, winding its way through the sky.
“It is time,” she repeated, burning the stars into her memory. “What is this, a drama?” she muttered under her breath as she turned to pack up camp.
When questioned by the teams who had come to investigate the disappearance of twenty men and the creation of a large, smoking crater on the edge of the forest made the previous night; all the nearby townspeople could say they heard was a lone whistler, making their way through the forest.