Amalia
the shield of safrin
Huh. That's... vague, but Amalia lets it go, wondering if it's one of the things he was concentrating on not concentrating on. The way he touches his nose and says that he can't give details reminds her of something she can't quite place, deja vu making her skin tingle, though she isn't sure why. "A man of mystery," she teases lightly, her alto voice a playful hum beneath the steady patter of rain on tarp.As for what his words made her wonder? Shrugging sharp shoulders, she feels heat rise again (so dismally easily) to her face. "You sounded like you belonged here. In Caido. Instead of... somewhere else."
The circling of topics back to music catches the Shield by surprise. Amalia turns to look at him, disbelief chased away by admiration and interest, curiosity. "My grandmother used to write songs, too" she volunteers, remembering the old woman's penchant for composition. "Mostly about the gods. I've... I've never been much of a writer, but I can sing. A little. Sometimes."
Embarrassed again by this admission she once more looks away, an awkward and anxious smile ghosting over coral lips. They're nearly at the inn, now, and idly she wonders where his room will be, if it will look like the one she shares with Deimos, if he's staying there alone.
someday we'll find what we're looking for
or maybe not
maybe we'll find something much greater
