with a reverence unimpaired

There is nowhere like that in Amalia's experience, no magic land of bounty and green, except perhaps the Oasis. The Hollowed Grounds are dead and dying, an ecosystem trapped by past mistakes. It is heart-wrenching to think of such a great thing dying, collapsing under the weight of apathy and ignorance and its own hunger... but what must the cost be of feeding such a thing, an entire world in a microcosm of bent space and magic? When he laughs it is a kindly thing, though Amalia starts at the sound. But he is a gentle creature, old and wise and wonderful, and does not judge her ignorance. "Oh," she answers softly, somehow more confused than before, though a great deal of the tension eases off her shoulders, out of her bones. Relief makes her shiver, a half-laugh leaving her lips. Of course a thing beloved by Mort could not be evil. She was a fool to doubt. Drawing a breath, the girl sits down, one hand sliding carefully into the tulmhainar's wizened one, another wrapping back around the glass of lemonade. "What... do you want to know?" She will make a poor snack, she thinks: her life is bland, an empty canvas of broad, dull strokes. Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.