such small hands

She had expected Jigano to shift back to human: the change to fox takes her by surprise, unaware as she is of the shared history between the men. She is not stupid, though, or blind, and it only takes a moment to see the something more between them, a thing she has felt in passing before. A flash of pink tongue; fingers in fur. Shifting on the cloak she looks away, suddenly self-conscious, feeling as though she has intruded upon something intimate and rare. Amalia is not sure what to do, so she busies herself further with food, pulling out bread and preserves from her bag and steadily looking anywhere but at the pair. That is, until Rory begins to cry. The sound startles her from herself, back to what matters, to them, to him. It is strange, how little she expected this from Rory. Brave Rory, who rode beside her into the night; strong Rory, who fought through fire to fix the perch. Faithful Rory, who held her as she broke and helped to string the pieces into place; kind Rory, whose face collapsed as she whispered of the world. He has been all of this and more, so much more, in their seasons of friendship. Asked to pick out adjectives for him, the girl would find herself rich with words. None of which were fragile. A moment of hesitation, and only a moment, before her arms slip around the pair. On her knees she leans against him, one hand resting on his closest shoulder, the other stroking down his back. It does not matter in this moment that they are a pair and she is one: she is theirs, and they are hers, and together, they are them. She sits, and holds them, and stares at the trees, something fiery and angry and protective on her face: she is watchful, mindful, a guardian for their grief, ready to snarl and stop any interloper, longing to fight away their fears. In that moment she would take on any turmoil, slay any foe, to guard his heart. The man, and the bard, and the absent gryphon, and the quiet of this place: they are home, a home she has not known, a home she thought she lost years before. 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