Amalia;
She spends a good deal of time here of late, lingering in the half-circle of stones as the days grow shorter and the autumn nights live long. It is an evening pilgrimage similar to that she used to make to the temple; a longer journey, to be sure, but one she is glad to make. Together she and Jyoti light the fire and tell the stars about their day: mundane moments, ardent triumphs, the small and large poured out to the sky. Perhaps the goddess is not listening, but they like to think she is.
That maybe, maybe, their adoration will make Safrin feel better.
(It makes them feel better, at the very least)
Today they carry a basket of food, two day old bread and cheese and strips of meat. Not a feast, but enough for a slim girl and a whale who eats nothing but starlight. Amalia wears a pack on her shoulders, but the shoulders are those of a leopardess, feline musculature beneath a coat of dense fur, long tail swatting the air as she lopes. The evening air is crisp and cool, the sun already falling low in the sky by the time they crest the familiar hill, the whale swimming up ahead, the leopard lingering behind.
Unfamiliar is the figure who stands among the stones. The leopardess draws to an abrupt stop, slinking instinctively behind the pillar, her ears perked up and her body low as she listens to the stranger speak. Asavvi, the girl says, A little bit adrift- and oh, if Amalia cannot relate to that particular sentiment. Thoughtful, observant, the baker makes a circuit of the shrine, following the unknown figure - Asavvi - on silent, subtle paws. She does not know if the girl is Attuned, but figures it is worth a try: Hello? she calls out mentally, as Jyoti trills aloud.
That maybe, maybe, their adoration will make Safrin feel better.
(It makes them feel better, at the very least)
Today they carry a basket of food, two day old bread and cheese and strips of meat. Not a feast, but enough for a slim girl and a whale who eats nothing but starlight. Amalia wears a pack on her shoulders, but the shoulders are those of a leopardess, feline musculature beneath a coat of dense fur, long tail swatting the air as she lopes. The evening air is crisp and cool, the sun already falling low in the sky by the time they crest the familiar hill, the whale swimming up ahead, the leopard lingering behind.
Unfamiliar is the figure who stands among the stones. The leopardess draws to an abrupt stop, slinking instinctively behind the pillar, her ears perked up and her body low as she listens to the stranger speak. Asavvi, the girl says, A little bit adrift- and oh, if Amalia cannot relate to that particular sentiment. Thoughtful, observant, the baker makes a circuit of the shrine, following the unknown figure - Asavvi - on silent, subtle paws. She does not know if the girl is Attuned, but figures it is worth a try: Hello? she calls out mentally, as Jyoti trills aloud.
dry your smoke-stung eyes
you can see the light
you can see the light
