[OPEN] (Re)Unions

YOU SAID THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT THE MOON IT ROSE TOO SOON AND WE'RE DOING WHAT WE SHOULD Jigano is the first to approach, his nearness forcing her intent eyes away from the dark behemoth to the pale bard, a different sort of affection blooming in her face. She does not see him hesitate, only come near: and so the girl responds in kind, firm facade cracking, calm veneer fading, only laughter and relief left in its face. Amalia does not hesitate - she closes the space between herself and her friend, throwing eager arms around him, a fierce embrace with grasping fingers pulling in for more. "I was so scared," the girl confesses, a breathed admission against his hair for nobody else's ears. Drawing away reluctantly, Amalia turns her attention to Sam and gently shakes her head. "I don't know. They let me go because of Jyoti, and Kiada because she fed the tulmhainar, but they seem to like Adam too much to give him up." A tired shrug: she is out of ideas and explanations, unable to find reason in this place. "Perhaps they did not trust him to get home without an escort." She didn't, certainly. Then Deimos is coming toward her, and for a moment she does not breathe. Will he speak? Touch? Catch her in his arms, scoop her up before the assembled, declare her to be his? But no: there is only the slightest graze of fingers on fingers, a secret, subtle, scintillating act, more meaningful than any public display. Hands on hands, but hidden, private, not for shame but because it is theirs, too young and too lovely for prying eyes. Inhaling sharply she nods her head, the faintest glitter of unsaid things illuminating her smile, her eyes. Turning to fall in alongside the looming man, it is all she can do to keep from reaching out again, letting hands meet and fingers lock, his arms around her, her face in his neck. Instead she brushes his arm against him, the subtlest touch, a silent exchange before falling away toward Caiside and Jigano, drawn by the question the once-elk posed. "It thrives on memories." There is a wistful affection in her voice, the wonder of the tulmhainar still fresh in her mind. "But does not take them away, only asks to be told stories. Oh, it's beautiful-!" And this she says directly to the provost, turning to walk backwards before him, a flush of incredulity on her face. Safe at last in the company of friends Amalia's tension is falling away, replaced with appreciation for the things she has seen, the adventures undertaken in a brand new world. The position also allows her to quietly grow a leopard tail and prod at Deimos' back with it, mischief shielded by her body, a silent game for only them. a m a l i a You said it's life that moves too much We're losing touch But I'm not losing you