[se] baby that's the fun of me

His head tilt is an invitation, but not one she chooses to take. As easily pleasant as she finds his company, Amalia has not told anyone her story, how it felt to receive Safrin's - Vi's - gift, and she hardly knows how she would begin to explain it, the wonder and majesty and blessing she felt. Besides, talking about herself has never been her strong suit, and part of her fears he will scoff at her tale, mitigate the meaning it inspires in her. So she merely shrugs, turning back to Aoife and letting the child's laughter fill the gap. It is only when Remi speaks of hunting and his youth that her face turns back up, looking at the kind, boyish figure and wondering at the easy way he speaks of trauma and pain. "Perhaps you can teach me," Amalia suggests quietly, a shy half-smile of understanding on her lips. Let me help you build better memories, it offers. And maybe help me, along the way. There is something off in how he speaks, glossing over trauma as though it is naught. It is something she recognizes easily enough, being an expert in bottling her own pain, suppressing painful memories beneath a content veneer. But where Amalia cracks and shudders and hide, Remi is adept, the easy tenor of his voice easily glossing past heartache and loss. "I'm sorry." Softly, sincerely, but meaningless, too. She cannot erase the wounds her world has left upon him, as surely as she cannot ease the ones upon herself. "What has it been like for you? Being here." Amalia i've been watching your kindness keep a lonely company - look at the fire and think of me