Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
Amalia follows Delah's eyes, moving closer to look at the patches of black upon the trees. Dark as coal with sapphire flecks, it is impossible not to notice on the bark, immediately recognizable as foreign. Kneeling in the dirt beside the roots, she reaches out with careful fingers, hesitating before they touch the substance, as if afraid of what she will find. "It looks like the Spire," the baker murmurs, half to the warchief and half to herself.
There is more, now that she knows where to look: on bark and leaf, rising from the earth. Amalia is not gardener; she has no idea what to do, how to contribute any sort of aid. But she has her suspicions of what this might be from, an inorganic figure coming to mind. "Have you asked the Gods for advice? Or the Tulmhainar? I can look in the Antheneum for anything, but..." She shrugs and rises, clutching her arms, chewing anxiously at her lip, her hands working nervously upon her sleeves. "I am sorry we caused this. But I... I haven't seen anything like it, in the barrier. Except that... it almost looks like the Spire, where the New Gods were locked away."
There is more, now that she knows where to look: on bark and leaf, rising from the earth. Amalia is not gardener; she has no idea what to do, how to contribute any sort of aid. But she has her suspicions of what this might be from, an inorganic figure coming to mind. "Have you asked the Gods for advice? Or the Tulmhainar? I can look in the Antheneum for anything, but..." She shrugs and rises, clutching her arms, chewing anxiously at her lip, her hands working nervously upon her sleeves. "I am sorry we caused this. But I... I haven't seen anything like it, in the barrier. Except that... it almost looks like the Spire, where the New Gods were locked away."
