Amalia
the shield of safrin
"She was. I learned from her. She also loved the Old Gods, Mort in particular..." Realizing she's rambling Amalia trails off, color rising in her cheeks as she finishes the small pastry. It feels incredibly surreal to sit here making small talk with a stranger who has managed to hunt her down on her honeymoon, but here they are. Amalia has certainly been in stranger situations, though as she watches Dorian none spring immediately to mind.He is not a general, not the leader of this... whatever it is. "Are there others?" the girl wonders, superstitiously glancing around as though expecting more well-dressed strangers to pop out from behind the tables and brush.
But as he continues to exalt her supposed merits Amalia can only shake her head, the blush rising as tendrils of lilac curl into her damp hair. "He... he gave me a task. To help heal Safrin." A genuine, childlike curiosity lights her eyes as she peers across the cup at the man, suddenly humbled, shy. "Is it... really so strange, for him to answer prayers?" Finn had made a similar implication, but the idea is still surprising to her.
The gentle question causes the Shield to drop her head, struck through by an arrow of failure and remorse. "It's... not easy. The Ascended... many of them are people I grew up with. My family. For a long time I thought- I hoped- that there would be a way to stop the Voice without... without involving them. That they could be saved."
Looking out upon the water, the girl exhales a sigh. "But now I... I don't know. What... do you and your people intend to do?"
someday we'll find what we're looking for
or maybe not
maybe we'll find something much greater
