Amalia
the shield of safrin
The first thing she does when the sun comes up is look for him.She couldn't have gone sooner (I should have gone sooner), couldn't have know he would stay home (I should have asked), couldn't have forced him to come to the Settlement (I'm stronger now, I should have made him), couldn't have protected him and the others as well (I should have at least tried).
Couldn't and shouldn't don't matter in the light of day. In the end what matters is that she didn't- and that it may be too late, now.
She does not adopt a spectral shift as she marches through the dawn, doesn't shield herself in feathers it fur. The morning after LongNight is always cold, and though the sun is up its light is almost painful, harsh as it illuminates the ones who are left - and the ones who are not.
(Please don't let him be among them, please don't let him be-)
And when she sees him? When he's there, blonde hair lit by the early light, standing before the open barn door, his back to her and his feet bare in the snow? When he isn't gone, isn't a ghost, isn't one of the countless friends who have disappeared into that longest of nights?
Relief is not a big enough word for the feeling that swallows Amalia whole, leaving her tongue heavy and her heart racing and her legs weak.
"Rory!" Her voice strikes the air like a match struck at midnight, shattering the stillness that lingers on the air. A flurry of movement; Amalia surges toward him abruptly, throwing her arms around his neck without the hesitant anxiety that might have marked the girl a mere year past. "You're okay" the baker exhales against his hair, smiling, shaking, happy and relieved. "Gods, you're- you're okay."
someday we'll find what we're looking for
or maybe not
maybe we'll find something much greater
