Amalia
the shield of safrin
Amalia is out among the crowds against her own better judgment, seeking anonymity among mulling figures and unfamiliar faces. Gifts to take home, baubles and trinkets; she trades for bread and other goods, already having established something of a reputation for her skills. So much for anonymity, but at least little else is known about her but her name and her skill. No moniker of Shield, no family ties, no cloud of mistakes and responsibilities to carry like Atlas beneath the sky.She doesn't mean to see him in the crowd, and when she does she doesn't mean to stare. For all she knows Finn would like to never see Amalia again, their strange stolen moment washed away like footprints in the tide. She hadn't expected to see him at all, figuring that Torchline was big enough and their worlds different enough so as not to intersect.
A mistake, she supposes.
But she's seen him now, and it's better to be frank and forward than try to pretend she has not. Amalia has never been very good at pretending, after all. She moves not toward him, but adjacent, alongside, coming to a stop at a comfortable distance, a flush on her tanned cheeks. "Hi, Finn," the Shield says softly- and then nothing else, leaving him space to pursue or step away.
someday we'll find what we're looking for
or maybe not
maybe we'll find something much greater
