Amalia
The luxere are a patient audience, their heads tilting curiously until her voice falls silent and they return to their foraging, digging through the snow. Do they hear her? Do they care? She likes to think they do; they are kind creatures, or they must be to guard the Settlement year after year. It is not their fault the red one was different and afraid.
She hopes he is not alone anymore.
Lost in her musings and the quiet company of the deer, Amalia does not notice the man - not until he speaks. His voice breaks through from the boughs above, and though it is gentle it startles the girl. She looks up sharply, her sudden movement surprising the luxere who dart away a body length, their bodies taut and wound and ready to spring, for they are wild things at heart, despite their docile natures. Perhaps she is a little wild, too: unaccustomed to interruption, interaction, hopelessly curious and endlessly afraid.
Her sharp face is an open mask as she stares at the boy embraced by boughs, embarrassed and defensive all at once. "I do, too," she says at last. "Nobody should be alone during the Long Night."
Except me, she thinks but does not say aloud.
She hopes he is not alone anymore.
Lost in her musings and the quiet company of the deer, Amalia does not notice the man - not until he speaks. His voice breaks through from the boughs above, and though it is gentle it startles the girl. She looks up sharply, her sudden movement surprising the luxere who dart away a body length, their bodies taut and wound and ready to spring, for they are wild things at heart, despite their docile natures. Perhaps she is a little wild, too: unaccustomed to interruption, interaction, hopelessly curious and endlessly afraid.
Her sharp face is an open mask as she stares at the boy embraced by boughs, embarrassed and defensive all at once. "I do, too," she says at last. "Nobody should be alone during the Long Night."
Except me, she thinks but does not say aloud.
