Amalia
the shield of safrin
Amalia nearly laughs her surprise at the suggestion she is a disciple of Frey; instead she snorts, shaking her head a little. "No- though I respect all the Gods, I pledge my allegiance to Vi and Safrin, not Frey. But that doesn't take away from the... the empathy I feel for all Rae's creatures, I suppose. And the Spark Bird is a living thing, so its well being is Vi's domain as well." She trails off in her rambling and looks back into the trees, as though hopeful that the bird itself will appear and save her from her own anxiety.
Alas, she is not to be so fortunate. As the fae woman lands in the snow beside her Amalia arches a brow, surprised by this descent onto land from the comfort of the tree. All curiosity and amusement fades at the revelation made: "Oh," the Shield exhales, stunned, her almond eyes blinking rapidly against her shock. "When-? How-?" She had expected Delah to last eternities, always present and always to remain. The loss of her - so abrupt, so unexpected - leaves Amalia reeling, unsure what to feel.
The woman does not linger long on sentiment, instead cutting directly to her point. Though taller, the Shield feels as though she is being looked down on, judged, and seen for her sins. It is an unexpected thing, and it leaves her mouth dry; in all her failures, this remains one of the most keen. "I do not." Meeting the wildfire with her own dark embers, she pushes the strength of her conviction into her words. "The Voice needs to be held accountable for her crimes - all of them, but especially those against the Greatwood. The Blight was a terrible thing, and too many are too happy to forget it occurred at all."
An image flashes through her mind: her goddess, twisted, sneering in her face- and then broken, wounded, begging her to find a way, to do the unthinkable if it must be done. Amalia will never forget the blight, and she will never forgive the Voice for it, not until or after the day she dies.
Alas, she is not to be so fortunate. As the fae woman lands in the snow beside her Amalia arches a brow, surprised by this descent onto land from the comfort of the tree. All curiosity and amusement fades at the revelation made: "Oh," the Shield exhales, stunned, her almond eyes blinking rapidly against her shock. "When-? How-?" She had expected Delah to last eternities, always present and always to remain. The loss of her - so abrupt, so unexpected - leaves Amalia reeling, unsure what to feel.
The woman does not linger long on sentiment, instead cutting directly to her point. Though taller, the Shield feels as though she is being looked down on, judged, and seen for her sins. It is an unexpected thing, and it leaves her mouth dry; in all her failures, this remains one of the most keen. "I do not." Meeting the wildfire with her own dark embers, she pushes the strength of her conviction into her words. "The Voice needs to be held accountable for her crimes - all of them, but especially those against the Greatwood. The Blight was a terrible thing, and too many are too happy to forget it occurred at all."
An image flashes through her mind: her goddess, twisted, sneering in her face- and then broken, wounded, begging her to find a way, to do the unthinkable if it must be done. Amalia will never forget the blight, and she will never forgive the Voice for it, not until or after the day she dies.
she is calm in the storm
and anxious in the quiet
and anxious in the quiet
