A M A L I A
Everything goes abruptly wrong, but there is a moment where Amalia does not care, because his her hand is in his and he is safe, still here, still hers, still unbroken and unburnt. Her lips curl up in a relieved smile; she squeezes back quickly, her insecurity forgotten as she traces him eagerly and finds him little hurt.
But there is not time to celebrate. The moment is swallowed by stinging smoke, choking into her mouth and nose, making her smile shift to a cough. Turning to the cowering child Amalia extends a hand, aching concern and no little guilt inspired by the panic on the girl's face, the way she shies back like a wild thing. "It's going to be okay." It would sound like a lie if she was not secure, confident Deimos will get them free- though she does not hesitate to add a prayer, instinctively reaching out for divine support. Please, Vi, Safrin, keep us with you today.
Then Deimos rises up behind them, his great hands wrapping around the girl's waist before flinging, sending her flying across the flames and to the safety of the other side. Blue eyes turn to hers, a little bit of mischief even now.
Coughing, the baker pushes closer, aware of the fire still at their back. "We should get her to the infirmary," she murmurs, "Or at least further from here. Flinthopper blazes spread quickly."
