gladly feast on all those who would dare to try and subdue us
Smugness reverberates across their bond when Amalia does not shoo her away, and were Anju a weaker woman - or perhaps if she had not bonded to Riya so young - she would have rolled her eyes. There is no need however, not when Riya can surely feel her exasperation clearly.
In contrast, Anju does not know what to do with herself, standing awkwardly with her hands flat at her sides. She is not a particularly social person. It is not much better when it is clear Amalia is every bit Vi's chosen, full of life and grace that Anju cannot hope to match. She is not dismayed by this, not the type to be self-demeaning, but there is definitely a churn to her stomach over her own contrasting ineptitude in conversation.
Riya finally plops herself on Amalia's shoulders, awkwardly buffeting her wings to avoid scratching the demigoddess with talons or scales, sending blonde hair askew. Accepting the scratching fingers with a curled neck and eyes closing, and then nipping playfully at the leaves that grow from behind the woman's ears. Anju watches her sister, but her focus is on Amalia's words. "I do not think they are that advanced," she muses with a thoughtful frown. "What type of messages? Defensive ones to alert different areas of the city, or written correspondence to other lands?" Always the problem solver, Anju cannot resists further inquiry.
In contrast, Anju does not know what to do with herself, standing awkwardly with her hands flat at her sides. She is not a particularly social person. It is not much better when it is clear Amalia is every bit Vi's chosen, full of life and grace that Anju cannot hope to match. She is not dismayed by this, not the type to be self-demeaning, but there is definitely a churn to her stomach over her own contrasting ineptitude in conversation.
Riya finally plops herself on Amalia's shoulders, awkwardly buffeting her wings to avoid scratching the demigoddess with talons or scales, sending blonde hair askew. Accepting the scratching fingers with a curled neck and eyes closing, and then nipping playfully at the leaves that grow from behind the woman's ears. Anju watches her sister, but her focus is on Amalia's words. "I do not think they are that advanced," she muses with a thoughtful frown. "What type of messages? Defensive ones to alert different areas of the city, or written correspondence to other lands?" Always the problem solver, Anju cannot resists further inquiry.
