footprints in the ashes

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind His willingness to overlook her lack of credibility is a relief, his apparent empathy for her plight as warming as any token of friendship. She regards him with favor despite his status as an interloper, and though he remains elusive, buried deep in ice, the copper girl wonders if he isn't prone to warm a little under the right light. The book he holds is old, and as he shifts it toward her she reaches up to stroke the spine, as though tactile sensation might stimulate her memory, lend her familiarity with the ancient text. "Reincarnation?" the girl echoes, her deep voice thoughtful, her gaze distant and quiet as she considers this reply. The word is lush upon her tongue, a glittering river in her mind, as her thoughts and knowledge on the matter quickly assemble to form an image, an interpretation. Her hand falls back; she turns from him, attention both within and without, interest burning bright circles in her brain. "There are books on that." Wraithlike, silently, she drifts away, slender fingers reaching up to grasp a book and collect it into her arms- and again and again. As she works she speaks, softly, as though to herself, though loud enough that the soldier might hear if he lingers close. "I've heard it said that reincarnation is a way of letting us atone for past mistakes- that we are born anew to face the challenges previous versions could not overcome. My grandmother would say it is for Mort to judge us when we die, and Vi to give us another chance, while Rae builds the world we are meant to grow within." She turns to her companion, a contemplative look upon her face. "These three books may help you get started," Amalia murmurs matter-of-factually, her arms outstretched to offer the tomes: all old, all, worn, but all rich and beautiful with knowledge. "I'm sure there are more; the Atheneum is vast. I could help you look-" Her voice breaks off, suddenly self-conscious, suddenly aware of the rise of authority where she wields none. He has not asked for help, nor any intrusion into his thoughts; yet in her eagerness to find companionship she has offered and, indeed, insisted. "-If you like." She steps back, cheeks hot and uncertain, eyes hopeful and bright. the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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