Amalia
the shield of safrin
"What was it like? Without them?" As much as Amalia's soul belongs to Vi and the Old Ones, the heralds have played such close roles in her life that she cannot imagine herself without them. Never before has she thought to consider a life without that divine presence, the intervention and interaction she has come to take for granted. "I've always had them in my life, at festivals or to answer prayers... did the Old Ones do that for you?" Envy rings clear as a bell in her voice, an aching longing for closeness with that ideal to which she strives.
The idea of the fight being worth it for their freedom, thatshe they might help to win it... "It will be harder for that, too," the Shield murmurs, looking at her feet. She still dreads the inevitable day when she must truly make a stand- not against the Voice, for that she has no doubts. But where others are involved? Amun? Sam? Wessex?
She dreads that moment more than anything else.
He speaks of a home of cliffs and clouds, and Amalia tries to picture it. "Is it... how do you get there?" She has yet to hear of anything beyond Halo or Torchline, but the way Finn talks has convinced her he is a Natural, born and bred under the gods. Like her.
The idea of the fight being worth it for their freedom, that
She dreads that moment more than anything else.
He speaks of a home of cliffs and clouds, and Amalia tries to picture it. "Is it... how do you get there?" She has yet to hear of anything beyond Halo or Torchline, but the way Finn talks has convinced her he is a Natural, born and bred under the gods. Like her.
she is calm in the storm
and anxious in the quiet
and anxious in the quiet
