Amalia
"She... she will be." Amalia nibbles at her lip, remembering the broken wing, the delicate hummingbird and hardy wolf. To have survived so long in the storms, alone and afraid and lost... the girl does not think she could manage. She does not have the strength.
Rising up and walking toward the kitchen, the baker listens carefully to Kiada, a worried frown pressing between her brows. She pauses to light a couple lanterns, casting the room in a warm yellow glow, before beginning to fetch the supplies for tea and honey-coated scones. It is a pleasant surprise when she turns around to find Kiada already working, half the ingredients assembled on the counter, all appropriate for their needs, showing a degree of skill and talent. "We'll make a baker of you yet." She smiles at the Harpy, affection in her face.
Affection which fades back into concern as the girl's tail continues to unfurl, and the light shows the bruises in greater clarity. A protective ferocity rises in her breast, feline and feral, the memory of that night still tearing, her adoration for the girl outweighing the strangeness of the tale. Amalia has made enough stupid mistakes, too many to ever possibly judge.
Reaching out for an unbruised part of Kiada's shoulder, Amalia squeezes reassuringly. "All we can ever do is be better," she murmurs, empathetic and ardent. Vi, I try. "As long as we try and push ourselves, it is enough. And Kiada you are wonderful, as strong and brave and kind a young woman as I have ever known."
Rising up and walking toward the kitchen, the baker listens carefully to Kiada, a worried frown pressing between her brows. She pauses to light a couple lanterns, casting the room in a warm yellow glow, before beginning to fetch the supplies for tea and honey-coated scones. It is a pleasant surprise when she turns around to find Kiada already working, half the ingredients assembled on the counter, all appropriate for their needs, showing a degree of skill and talent. "We'll make a baker of you yet." She smiles at the Harpy, affection in her face.
Affection which fades back into concern as the girl's tail continues to unfurl, and the light shows the bruises in greater clarity. A protective ferocity rises in her breast, feline and feral, the memory of that night still tearing, her adoration for the girl outweighing the strangeness of the tale. Amalia has made enough stupid mistakes, too many to ever possibly judge.
Reaching out for an unbruised part of Kiada's shoulder, Amalia squeezes reassuringly. "All we can ever do is be better," she murmurs, empathetic and ardent. Vi, I try. "As long as we try and push ourselves, it is enough. And Kiada you are wonderful, as strong and brave and kind a young woman as I have ever known."
