A M A L I A
Amalia was outside in the garden, working amongst the weeds. It was not her favorite task, and one she often delegated, but with the LongHeat sun beating down the older women she employed grumbled and wiggled their way out of work, complaining of age and creaking backs. In past years the girl would have left it alone, allowed scorching heat to kill off the garden, weed and flower alike. But this year was supposed to be different, the year she started to care. This year her grandmother would be proud of her, and the bakery would flourish, and all would be well.
So she told herself at least, the mantra an echo behind clenched teeth as she wrestled with some of the stubborn roots. At least the soil was already soft: Amalia had bargained with the burros, leaving out cream in the shady mornings so that the earth would be tilled by afternoons. This, again, was an ancient custom, a deal struck years ago between her grandmother and the creatures. To get them on board this year had been a struggle, and for the first weeks Amalia feared she would be eaten out of hearth and home. But by now the animals were full and docile, content to work on a little less.
With dirt beneath her fingernails and caked upon her arms she looked almost more stone golem than girl. Her hair was tied in a braided fishtail, carefully wrapped but still escaping into wild wayward strands. Rising up from her patch of cleared earth she wiped her hand across her forehead, cleaning off sweat and streaking more dirt on the curves of her face. Stretching, she turned at the sound of paws on pavement, a grin splitting her face as she caught sight of the lion, only one doorstop away.
"Remi!" Amalia called to her friend, surprised and concerned but pleased as well. She glanced around for Isla or Ronin, surprised at their absence from his side. Could he see again-? But no, his eyes remained that terrible pale color, and her heart sank a little at the sight. Still she rallied, striding toward him, her voice vibrant and playful in the morning light. "Thank Rae, now I have an excuse to stop gardening- do you want to come in? Or I can bring us out some snacks."
