[Open] Where silent gods stand guard.

Amalia cannot help it: she laughs as the cobbler declares his aversion to bickering, relating wholly to that particular sentiment. "Delah is the monarch to worry about, here. But she's sooner take you captive than bicker." A little bit of tension returns as she thinks about the war-chief and their strange, uneasy truce. But Delah has not said anything yet, so they are likey in the clear. Her questions seem to catch him off guard, and Amalia's cheeks color a little, embarrassed, but still eager for answers, curious to a fault. Dark eyes glitter with interest, flowing him as he looks over the drop; stepping forward she, too, peers down below, staring at the distant pool. Ludo. It is the last piece to set her at ease, and Amalia now finds herself invested, whether the stranger likes it or not. Chuckling at his joke, the baker shakes her head. "I can help hold the rope. But I have another idea, if you're interested." So saying Amalia extends her arms, letting feathers flicker briefly over them, a sign of the owl within. "I can fly down and scoop some out, if you have a light enough container." Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.