[SE] Silver Bells and Cockleshells

Amalia had not seen the note, having spent a limited amount of time in the Guildhall following LongNight's awkward conversations. Instead it is piety which draws her to the fields, her weekly pilgrimage to Safrin's shrine fueling her steps down the well-trod path. A path which is slick, today, with mud, the strange memory sludge clinging to her bare feet like a child eager to entice her to play. The pads on her soles save her from too much entrapment; the leopardess was meant to float atop snow, her weight distributed elegantly despite the rest of her form being largely human. Her staff is tucked into the bracer made by Remi, along with her shield, neither needed for this particular venture. She left the bakery intending to plant some fresh flowers alongside Safrin's shrine, to tell her goddess of her survival of the night. She expected to see some others here as well, the Fields an ever popular place for post-LongNight revelry. And yet, for some reason, she had not expected him. Amalia pauses as Jigano comes into view, suddenly unsure on how to proceed. Part of her yearns to speak to him, to address him with apologies and beg his forgiveness. Another part still clings to her anger, wrapping it around her fragile heart as one might wear a shroud. Barefoot, loose-haired, dressed in blue and simple breeches, the Shield lingers on the brink of instigation, torn between opposing instincts and unable to follow either. In the end she opts for silence, continuing on her interrupted path. Should he wish to address her she will pause, but if not she cannot say she blames him. She would not want to speak to her, either. a m a l i a You were young and you'd stare With a reverence unimpaired Searching in your dark eyes to find the stars already there