my whole life is mine, but whoever says so will deprive me,
for it is infinite.
At the news about Amalia, Amun grimaced. ”Shit. I’m sorry.” He took a step forward, dropping his hand. ”If either of you need anything, just let me know.” Though his voice was quiet, his concern for the baker was evident.
When Deimos asked about The Voice, the potter scoffed. ”You couldn’t go to Safrin to ask her to heal Amalia?” The retort left his lips without thinking, and he sighed. ”I’m sorry. That was entirely uncalled for.” Setting the walking stick to lean against the stones of the bakery, he rubbed his right wrist. ”I asked The Voice for healing. She didn’t answer.” There was an aggrieved undercurrent in the potter’s voice, and he pressed his lips together.
Then he held his injured hand out again. ”So. Will you help me or not?"
When Deimos asked about The Voice, the potter scoffed. ”You couldn’t go to Safrin to ask her to heal Amalia?” The retort left his lips without thinking, and he sighed. ”I’m sorry. That was entirely uncalled for.” Setting the walking stick to lean against the stones of the bakery, he rubbed his right wrist. ”I asked The Voice for healing. She didn’t answer.” There was an aggrieved undercurrent in the potter’s voice, and he pressed his lips together.
Then he held his injured hand out again. ”So. Will you help me or not?"
by being moved I exert my empire,
making the dreams of night real
AMUN
