A M A L I A
"I'm not the world, though. I'm your friend." Or so she hopes- though that deep, nagging voice which lives in her gut whispers and curls, tugging at tremulous insecurities, snarling and snapping at her soul. Sighing, she swallows the bile down, shaking her head to brush it away. "You don't have to be strong for everyone. Sometimes you can let people be strong for you." There is no hint of obligation, no question of cost in the girl's voice: she is sincere to a fault, utterly giving, having been raised in such a way.
Grinning back at the curly-haired alchemist, Amalia tsks exaggeratedly, affecting a long-suffering tone. "Bread? You might as well ask the moon of me, sir!" Coming back to join Remi at the table, Amalia produces a large wooden basket laden with a loaf of fresh herb bread, a small brick of cheese, and some cured meats. "Alright, go ahead and take my arm. And uh, oh!" Moving away, she returns shortly, her antler-wreathed staff in hand. "You can use this to knock around, and make sure you don't fall."
Thus armed, she moves to lead on their great adventure, around the counter and through the rear of the shop to where the back door hangs open, inviting in the beauty of the world.
