[Seasonal Event] Three is Company

Vaya's warm nose is moist upon Amalia's hand, a welcome anchor to the world for the girl so often cast adrift. The smile she gives the friendly dog is soft and sincere; for a moment she is lost in thick fur and a smooth tongue, the scent and sound of the guileless beast. It is all she can do not to transform, to disappear into snow leopard form and shed her human woes behind. "It must be nice," the girl murmurs, kneeling down to press her face into Vaya's neck, the staff forgotten by her side. She envies the dog her constancy, the freedom she wields without being aware: she wishes she could be so bold. It must be nice. The whole walk here her companion has been merry, as though none of it matters, as though nothing has changed- and though Amalia appreciates the kindness of distraction, she cannot shake the memory of Rory's crumpled figure, crumpled face. Peering now through lowered lashes, she wonders if she will see it in life. The reality is both better and worse. Rory's voice cuts like a knife, and though she does not want to look, she cannot help a sidelong glance as Jigano calls a bright reply. Happiness, a smile; for a moment she hopes. He does not hate her; he welcomes, her, even, and it feels as though things will be alright. But it's not: it never is, when your brain is against you, your greatest strength acting as constant saboteur. Half-rising, Amalia watches as the men wrap each other in an embrace, something in their face the she cannot name but which causes an empty pang to resound in her chest. It is the way they linger, their cheeks touching, their hands held... the tightrope walker on her heartstrings falters in its dance, jealousy biting at its heels. What place does she hold among them, the older, wiser, stronger pair, Isuma cupped against their faces; what is she but a rain cloud in their sun? She wants to shift, to shrink, to vanish. Amalia wants to run away from the thing she sees, the thing she cannot have. Two is company, but three's a crowd. She turns away quickly, and so she does not expect the hug. Swept up suddenly in Rory's arms, the girl stiffens, eyes widening in surprise, the warmth of his body a fire on her skin, the scent of him heavy in her nose. Helplessly she looks toward Jigano, but instead meets the eager gaze of Isuma, the little gryphon also there. How-! And why-! And why not, she at last decides, her own arms reaching out to return the embrace, snaking cautiously around Rory while resisting the urge to bury her face in his neck. a m a l i a You were young and you'd stare With a reverence unimpaired Searching in your dark eyes to find the stars already there