Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
"Will you show us the blight?"
So it begins: Amalia pesteringDelah once more, and the warchief reluctantly agreeing. At least she agreed, the baker thinks. She would like to believe she is wearing her down, that Delah has come to have some respect for the girl- but honestly she knows it is Jyoti's effect, the starwhale some sort of compulsion, a balm, a branding the Fae simply cannot deny.
In stoic silence they travel through the woods, the barefoot girl and her starlit calf following the warchief without complaint. After her questions were met with such consternation, she is reluctant to voice the million on her tongue (and oh, there are millions, always, always, always). Instead she tries to stifle curiosity, resulting in a strange and somewhat constipated affect, uneasy and quivering with the need to know.
She does not want to demand: she wants to be told, to have Delahtrust respect her enough to impart the knowledge of this place. And so she bites her tongue, carrying on, her sharp eyes seeking any sign of illness in the plants that shift and dance in the woods.
So it begins: Amalia pestering
In stoic silence they travel through the woods, the barefoot girl and her starlit calf following the warchief without complaint. After her questions were met with such consternation, she is reluctant to voice the million on her tongue (and oh, there are millions, always, always, always). Instead she tries to stifle curiosity, resulting in a strange and somewhat constipated affect, uneasy and quivering with the need to know.
She does not want to demand: she wants to be told, to have Delah