Amalia
the shield of safrin
Never in her immediate memory has someone reacted so strongly to her name. Amalia blinks rapidly, her eyebrows wrinkling, the flush in her cheeks only rising at his strange, stilted compliment. "Um... thank you?" Her hand reaches to the back of her neck, as though trying to rub away her blush. "Finn is nice, too." Even lamer, if that's possible, but the Shield is woefully out of her depth in the face of this strange encounter.
At least he moves on quickly, clinging to the lifeline she's thrown (or is he the one who's thrown it?). "Oh... how long have you been here, then?" An Outlander, Amalia assumes, especially if he comes from near the ocean.
Stepping back from the encroaching tide, Amalia jerks her chin toward a nearby log. "Would... would you like to sit? What are you concentrating on?"
At least he moves on quickly, clinging to the lifeline she's thrown (or is he the one who's thrown it?). "Oh... how long have you been here, then?" An Outlander, Amalia assumes, especially if he comes from near the ocean.
Stepping back from the encroaching tide, Amalia jerks her chin toward a nearby log. "Would... would you like to sit? What are you concentrating on?"
she is calm in the storm
and anxious in the quiet
and anxious in the quiet
