On Broken Wings

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help Amalia feels his weariness, yes, but it does not appall her, does not lead her to find him any lesser than he is. She, took, knows what it is to carry a weight while standing tall, to wield the world upon her shoulders and never let them see her falter. How nice it would be to just once shrug, let the ponderous globe slip from her back and roll away to someone else's feet. She will not let her burden drop, but she is happy to carry his, for a time. "It's okay," she murmurs again, leaning back against the log, her dark eyes closing, affection pulsing through their bond. Long fingers continue to stroke his fur, looping and playing on the length of his spine, a soothing action her grandmother used to take when Amalia was young and afraid of the dark. As Isuma climbs into her lap the baker wraps her arm around her, pulling her closer against her chest; Jyoti, too, curls up upon her legs, offering starlit solace to her worried friend. For a moment they rest there, silent and secure, and though she is still afraid for him she is comfortable, too, safe in the embrace of familial friendship. She lets him take his time replying, her hand never leaving his slender form. And when he does speak it is all she can do to not react, confusion and uncertainty splaying over her face, this strange exclamation not something she expected. Pausing to recompose her thoughts, Amalia struggles a second to find the words to explain her bewilderment and disbelieving concern. "Why do you feel like that?" she asks at last, a frown knitting her brows, wondering what could have happened to cause such insecurity in his heart. "What happened, Jigano?" a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine