AMALIA
Amalia does not often hunt, despite the predatory nature of her forms. She finds the act of taking a life too much responsibility for her to bear; and now that she can hear the thoughts of most animals, the very idea appalls her further. She will eat meat, of course, and accept that others hunt it, but she would rather not actively partake in the hunting process herself. Or be anywhere near it. Or think about it too hard.That said, rodents make for easy target practice, and Amalia needs to push herself if she ever hopes to regain her strength. Her legs, still useless, dangle beneath her and negate any real hope she would have of causing harm; her wings, however, are strong and sure as the owl circles over the Fields and tries to bury her revulsion and fear at the memory of the tragedies that occurred here weeks ago.
She spots the cat from high above, too pretty and pristine to be anything but an Attuned. One she doesn't recognize, by sight or pushing mental pulse. Curious the avian circles lower, until she rings around the feline, still coasting through the air. Hello, she offers gently. Out for an evening hunt?
You are flesh and blood
And you deserve to be loved
and you deserve what you are given
And oh, how much
And you deserve to be loved
and you deserve what you are given
And oh, how much
