Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
"I soldier, I think... from Northaven, like many of the Outlanders." She does not know why Delah is so angry, what may have happened between them before. Though part of her thrilled with the potential for an ally, a shared displeasure with a common foe. Amalia has not forgiven Roana for her part in the takedown of the Spire, the freedom of the Voice and the death within.
Especially now that she suspects a tulmhainar may be among those dead.
She tries not to bristle as fae surround her, hands bunching into fists among her shirt. Shifting her jaw, Amalia meets Delah's mossy eyes, understanding if not acceptance in the stubborn lines of her face. She will not let her people be hurt- but the warchief likely knows as much, from their prior conversations and fights. "My friends can handle themselves," she replies, nodding her consent to their newfound mission.
Especially now that she suspects a tulmhainar may be among those dead.
She tries not to bristle as fae surround her, hands bunching into fists among her shirt. Shifting her jaw, Amalia meets Delah's mossy eyes, understanding if not acceptance in the stubborn lines of her face. She will not let her people be hurt- but the warchief likely knows as much, from their prior conversations and fights. "My friends can handle themselves," she replies, nodding her consent to their newfound mission.
