Amalia;
Amalia spins around, surprised, not expecting to hear her name spoken in the morning air. Black eyes widen, her hackles visibly rising, the evidence of her tightly wound state written in the way she moves. For a moment she looks more animal than human: a strange ferocity marks her features, not angry so much as wary, wild.
But then the moment passes, and she is a just a baker again, gilded and small in an expanding world. "Hello, Nathaniel," the girl replies, craning her neck to look up in his face, her hand raised to shield her eyes from sweat. There is something unusual about seeing him here, giving her a moment of pause. Usually the farmer strikes an odd figure, a little too big, a little out of place in every room. But here, in the wild of his own back yard, Nate feels right, as though he belongs, as though the emptiness of this place was made to be filled by his towering form.
Shrugging off the odd thought, Amalia glances at the stick in his hand. "Yes," she answers. "Just in case." In case of what she does not say, but she doesn't have to, really. They are in the same boat, of the same opinions, small-town children in a growing world, trying desperately to keep up with marching changes. Her eyes flick to the dog, back to the stick, and then again to his distinctive face. "Would you care to join?"
But then the moment passes, and she is a just a baker again, gilded and small in an expanding world. "Hello, Nathaniel," the girl replies, craning her neck to look up in his face, her hand raised to shield her eyes from sweat. There is something unusual about seeing him here, giving her a moment of pause. Usually the farmer strikes an odd figure, a little too big, a little out of place in every room. But here, in the wild of his own back yard, Nate feels right, as though he belongs, as though the emptiness of this place was made to be filled by his towering form.
Shrugging off the odd thought, Amalia glances at the stick in his hand. "Yes," she answers. "Just in case." In case of what she does not say, but she doesn't have to, really. They are in the same boat, of the same opinions, small-town children in a growing world, trying desperately to keep up with marching changes. Her eyes flick to the dog, back to the stick, and then again to his distinctive face. "Would you care to join?"
dry your smoke-stung eyes
you can see the light
you can see the light
