[Training] not a prayer (open)

Amalia

she was afraid of heights

She listens silently as he answers her flatly, his voice cold and dull. No, he doesn't want to talk about it, whatever it might be, and honestly? That's a little bit of a relief. The amount of soothing and dwelling and talking Amalia has done recently is frankly somewhat daunting, and the last thing the baker needs is to think about all the things she cannot do anything about.

So Amalia shrugs, a wry and mirthless smile not quite reaching her tired eyes. "Good. Me neither." Her problems, like his, are largely self inflicted, and he's right- they aren't friends. They have no obligation to delve into each other's drama, to listen and lend a sympathetic ear.

They are two ships in a shallow pond, trying desperately to not maroon.

But she doesn't want to be alone, either, because alone means thinking, because alone means remembering all thosw things she doesn't want to talk about. "How about a spar?" she suggests instead, not really sure why but liking the idea of something physical, of pushing herself until her muscles sing. "Loser buys drinks." pays, a callback to when he offered to pay her back for bread. But there's a silent entreaty beneath the wry humor, an honesty in the request. She needs a distraction, and it seems like he does too.

They may not be friends, but they can do this for each other.

but she was much more afraid

of never flying