A Formal Army for the Birth of a Nation

If the guard anticipated bothering the baker, he must not have known her very well. Amalia tilts her head, still wrathful, quietly eyeing the familiar Abandoned before turning to stare at the one who shoved Rory, her brows lowering in clear disdain. Both of them have frequented her bakery in the past, knew her mother and grandmother, have history and ties. It is too small a place for them to be strangers, too tight a community for all to come undone. "We are complying. We are adjusting. We used to be a community here. Did you really forget that so quickly?" Softly the girl shakes her head, turning to leave with Rory and Deimos, to wait for the fallout of her impulsive decisions to rain down upon her like shrapnel and dirt.