A M A L I A
For you, anything. What an oddly intimate statement; Amalia does not know how to react. Why? her mind screams, rallies and wonders. Why me? What did I do to deserve your friendship, your generosity, your trust? Perhaps a little of it sneaks through their mental bond, an unspoken pulse in her budding abilities, amazement and gratitude and a strange sort of closeness. It's good he cannot see her face, because there are tears there, bright behind her blinking eyes, surprise and warmth and happiness staining her cheeks a vibrant red.
He listens to her suggestions with a boyish smile, and when she mentions healing he does not say no. Helping him find the staff once more, Amalia tilts her head and waits, watching as power grows in his hands. She has never seen anyone like this, outlander or natural, and a low exhale escapes her lips as he works, magic coursing through his fingers, brightness in his palms. Dark eyes watch in slight concern as sweat appears upon his brow; she is about to stop him, to tell him it is not worth it, when his eyes flutter open once again.
"Are you alright?" Amalia asks, reaching out to grasp his arm, to lead him down to the blanket below. "You were incredible. You've certainly earned all the bread you can ever eat!" She laughs, leaning over unconsciously to push the hair out of his face, away from the stick sweat. It is an intimate action, but not romantic: how she might have treated her family, a brother, if only she had been gifted with one.
