Amalia
she was afraid of heights
Triumph. That is the leopardess' first thought as she hovers above the man, her paw resting gently but firmly upon his chest, her teeth bared in a feline grin. Triumph, because at last he has surrendered, because at last she has succeeded in something, even if it is just a spar.
But Loren just looks... tired. Breathing heavily, the leopardess feels her triumph slipping away, replaced by a deep and constant uncertainty as she studies the summoner's face. She doesn't get it: he'd wanted this as much as she, and now he looks defeated- not just physically, but emotionally, as though she has taken something important from him.
Amalia shifts back just as blue light leaves Loren's hands, coursing through their now joined fingers and pulling at her skin. She had hardly noticed the wolf bite, but as it knits itself together she reaches up to wipe away the last of the blood from her cheek, pleasantly surprised by the lack of pain. "Thanks-"
But it doesn't stop there, and Amalia's black eyes widen as she feels the healing magic work its way through her entire body, pressing and pulling and changing things. It's a familiar feeling and an unfamiliar one too, and as it works on her the girl suddenly feels a crushing wave of memories and emotions, images flashing through her mind. Her mother, healing her time after time; her mother, dead in the infirmary; darkness, and a light within, and the voice of her grandmother, and then Vervain's magic, a terrible magic that felt just like this, pulling her back from the comfort of death, willing her body to revert and change.
She should have died that day, when no one would have mourned her. She had been so close to being free, and in the days that followed she had looked at the scars on her wrist as a reminder. Scars made by Jigano's teeth. Scars in a ring, grounding, faint but prominent.
Scars that are no longer there.
Pulling hurriedly away from Loren, Amalia scoots back on the ground, her face awash with panic and dismay as she stares, wild-eyed, at her pristine wrist. "What... what did you do to me?"
But Loren just looks... tired. Breathing heavily, the leopardess feels her triumph slipping away, replaced by a deep and constant uncertainty as she studies the summoner's face. She doesn't get it: he'd wanted this as much as she, and now he looks defeated- not just physically, but emotionally, as though she has taken something important from him.
Amalia shifts back just as blue light leaves Loren's hands, coursing through their now joined fingers and pulling at her skin. She had hardly noticed the wolf bite, but as it knits itself together she reaches up to wipe away the last of the blood from her cheek, pleasantly surprised by the lack of pain. "Thanks-"
But it doesn't stop there, and Amalia's black eyes widen as she feels the healing magic work its way through her entire body, pressing and pulling and changing things. It's a familiar feeling and an unfamiliar one too, and as it works on her the girl suddenly feels a crushing wave of memories and emotions, images flashing through her mind. Her mother, healing her time after time; her mother, dead in the infirmary; darkness, and a light within, and the voice of her grandmother, and then Vervain's magic, a terrible magic that felt just like this, pulling her back from the comfort of death, willing her body to revert and change.
She should have died that day, when no one would have mourned her. She had been so close to being free, and in the days that followed she had looked at the scars on her wrist as a reminder. Scars made by Jigano's teeth. Scars in a ring, grounding, faint but prominent.
Scars that are no longer there.
Pulling hurriedly away from Loren, Amalia scoots back on the ground, her face awash with panic and dismay as she stares, wild-eyed, at her pristine wrist. "What... what did you do to me?"
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
