AmaLiA
the archangel
The Ceffyl Dŵr watches through large, translucent eyes as the pair of Attuned work out their haphazard plan. Amalia nods at Ray's question, bending a knee and lowering herself closer to the ground that the other might climb on. There haven't been many who have ridden the qilin, but those who have tell Amalia she is a smooth - if bony - mount. Idly she wonders if she ought to invest in a saddle for herself, but of course the only person she knows who could make one is the last person to whom she can turn.
These thoughts disperse like ripples as Amalia steps onto the water. The horse watches for a careful second; then, with scarcely a disturbance of the surface, disappears into the depths. Only the feeling of its mind remains, a pull that the Shield follows until she stands above the center of the lake. Far below a dark shadow lurks; I think that's it, Amalia murmurs, tail lashing through the wake. When you get off I'll bubble you. Ready?
These thoughts disperse like ripples as Amalia steps onto the water. The horse watches for a careful second; then, with scarcely a disturbance of the surface, disappears into the depths. Only the feeling of its mind remains, a pull that the Shield follows until she stands above the center of the lake. Far below a dark shadow lurks; I think that's it, Amalia murmurs, tail lashing through the wake. When you get off I'll bubble you. Ready?
& once again I shall kiss the sky
