Amalia
the shield of safrin
She was on the porch. She knew things. A shiver tears hungrily down Amalia's spine; she has heard this story too many times. I heard her voice, he called my name- the things she was warned of as a child, the tricks and lies so readily employed. "That doesn't mean that it was her," she tries to remind him gently, hand reaching idly to stroke the hair that has matted, damp, upon his face.She remembers the last Night, when it was she who wished to follow the dead, when guilt and pain were her symphony and he sat beside her through it. She had wany so much to follow her family, to find a place where she belonged, even if it was in death. How much it hurt to give up that dream.
How much it hurts, even now.
She exhales softly, her lips against his skull and her arms wrapped around him: the way she might have held her brother, had she been anything but alone. "Rory... What did she say to you? Was she frightened? Did it sound like she was in danger?" There are no calm voices outside at Long night, especially if they come from human throats.
someday we'll find what we're looking for
or maybe not
maybe we'll find something much greater
