Amalia
For my part, I know nothing with any certainty
She listens, her dark eyes never leaving the girl, as much as she wishes to look away- as much as it hurts and aches and tears her apart to see her failure in one she loves so dear. Kiada deserves better than her fear, than her failure. Kiada deserves stalwart strength and reassurance, fondness unfailing, for them to try.The descriptions of the illness only confirms her suspicions, each symptom one she has seen in her studies of Ronin, of animals and plants affected by Blight. It is here, in their home, in their loved ones, insidious and insistent; as Kiada speaks her right hand clenches, fury kept only just at bay from flashing in her eyes. Why, why, why, is nothing they do good enough; how much harder do they have to fight? Samples and explorations, the death of plants and the salvation of the Tulmhainar- all of it has been for little, for naught, a pointless endeavor into the abyss. Each time she tells herself it will be enough, that this time, this time, they will succeed.
Yet here they are, fresh from the last fight, and nobody has been saved.
She is surprised by the gentle reassurance that leaves her lover's throat, glancing fondly at the monolith and nodding in agreement. "Nothing," she echoes, ardent and impassioned, squeezing gently on Kiada's knee before pulling herself up to stand. Deimos continues to question, to ask what to do now- and again, Amalia knows the answer, as loath as she is to say. Nothing, nothing, we can do nothing-
"Let's make some lunch for now," the baker says pragmatically, falling back into the easiest, the safest thing she knows: food. "I brought sandwich supplies. Deimos, can you find some plates? Kiada, let's get the ingredients together. Come." She extends a hand to the invalid, a smile on her lips, reassurance and love and strength and support pulsing through the Attuned bond. You are strong, and you are brave, and we are here for you.
but the sight of the stars makes me dream
