[Open] Where silent gods stand guard.

Perhaps it is not the wisest thing, to offer assistance to a man she has just met, but Amalia has never been called wise. His apparent awe at her partial shift makes her chuckle self-consciously, her cheeks coloring slightly in a bashful expression as she wraps her arms around her torso, shrugging nonchalantly. "Have you never seen an Attuned?" she wonders, curious. It would be strange, but perhaps he is very new. The cobbler extends a small leather flask, and Amalia takes it in her hand, feeling the weight and nodding- yes, she should be able to carry this down. "Ok. I'll be right back." So saying the baker's figure shrinks and changes, until a barn owl stands in her place, the flask clutched tight between long talons. Taking to the air, Amalia dives down, down, down toward the still water below, pulling up at the last possible moment so that only the flask skims the surface of the pool. Then she ascends with her burden, struggling only slightly with its weight. Creating the lip of the cliff she tries to pass it back to Are, hooting slightly before pushing back, finding a comfortable distance to shift. Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.