with a reverence unimpaired

Amalia... It sings back, as if trying on her name for size. Though its facial expression is limited to the rocky crust that covers its exposed skin, still it smiles. In your mind though it is a man who looks at you, leathery skin pulled tight into a wide smile, with eyes that seem genuinely happy to have learned this new information. To have learned something about you. Glancing around, the tulmhainar offers Amalia one of the glasses of lemonade, sitting down in a wicker-backed chair and crossing his feet at the ankle. You can almost hear his body sigh audibly as he relaxes. We're in the same place really. This is all in your mind, or in my mind, if you want to be technical about it. The words have a slight drawl to them, like if molasses and cigar-smoke had a voice. The magic of the world you are in, this grove, was a gift from Mort. Being in here though, that's just me. Gesturing at the seat for Amalia to sit, the tulmhainar took a breath and as he exhaled, a breeze rushed through the golden wheat fields causing crows to scatter with noisy caws of disapproval.