Jorseval falls from her shoulder with ungainly grace, tumbling back into human form under Amalia's softening glare. Who could help but crack a smile, surrounded as she is by light and memory? Some find the festival morose, a time for mourning, but the young baker prefers to take this opportunity to see the good in others, including aggravating crows. She doesn't know where she learned his name - probably from her grandmother shouting it - but the wild priest does not seem to care, continuing on some nonsense about luring in and books. An eyebrow arches on her angular face.
"Why are you so afraid of learning?" she teases, but the harshness is gone from her alto voice.
Edrei 's smile is a fierce light in the dark, her purr at once more frightening and thrilling than anything the bobkitten could do. Amalia flushes, her skin warming uncomfortably under the unexpected onslaught of attention, a shiver, unbidden, tracking her spine. Flirting -
is this flirting? - is as far from her comfort zone as anything could be, far enough that she still treats it with skepticism when it strikes her in the face. All she manages to choke out is a strained and flustered
"Mm-hm,", her attention focused studiously on Jory and the bobkitten. The crow's continued antics are a rare blessing in disguise, and Amalia finds herself soothed by their familiarity. Besides, the flirting probably wasn't even meant for her. Or flirting at all. Or anything. Or-
-Oh thank Rae someone's asking questions.
Amalia turns quickly to
Ronin, thrilled to be back in comfortable territory. "
Yes," she confirms as another joins their small group, seemingly intent on the flirtatious stranger.
Her girlfriend? The baker mentally shrugs, trying to ignore the bitter loneliness that pricks against her brain. Dark eyes flicker across her own string of lanterns, dancing merrily in the wind.
"The dead, or the gone. I hang lanterns for the Old Gods," and my family- but she does not add that last piece. Who are they to know, or care, about her loss? The Gods are for everyone, but her family... well, that is just for her.
Suddenly she shifts her pack onto the ground and kneels beside it, reaching in and rummaging around before plucking out a large package wrapped in burlap.
"Would you like some bread?" she questions shyly, looking between the outlanders (and pointedly ignoring Jory)
"I always make four loaves for the festival - one for each of the Gods." She unwraps the package, revealing four lovingly - if perhaps not masterfully - crafted loaves: herb, cheese, chocolate, and plain.
amalia chandrakantwe might be hollow, but we're brave
