no amount of guilt can change the past && no amount of anxiety can change the future
The wave of terror clings as close and firm as the muck they've fallen into, and nearly takes more to shake off. The shelter of her wings is reinforced by the length of scales that glitters over her spine, by the long pair of antlers that curl from her forehead and the fangs to rival Adam's own peeking from under her lips. Yet for all her strength Amalia clings to Adam like a buoy in the storm, terrified of drowning without him by her side as panic begins to rise behind her eyes.
Who's to say what might have happened next, had it been anyone else? But somehow Adam knows exactly how to lance the tension, taking irreverent humor to her wound and leaving Amalia too startled to do anything but bark a surprised laugh. She pulls back, the animalistic features retreating as staccato giggles soften some of the panic attack. "He- y'know- that might be a more realistic fear, if it had meant anything to him." The words taste bitter in her mouth, but she's too deafened by the thunder of her heart to hear it.
Reluctantly she peels away from Adam and rises in the mud, one hand extended to stay in his own, pull him up along with her. With filth on her face she peers at the tree, a magnificent thing so marred by death that Amalia can nearly taste it. "How beautiful," she murmurs, absently laying a track of hard light over the ground that she might easier approach. "It reminds me of the Mathair, but... Sadder, somehow."
Who's to say what might have happened next, had it been anyone else? But somehow Adam knows exactly how to lance the tension, taking irreverent humor to her wound and leaving Amalia too startled to do anything but bark a surprised laugh. She pulls back, the animalistic features retreating as staccato giggles soften some of the panic attack. "He- y'know- that might be a more realistic fear, if it had meant anything to him." The words taste bitter in her mouth, but she's too deafened by the thunder of her heart to hear it.
Reluctantly she peels away from Adam and rises in the mud, one hand extended to stay in his own, pull him up along with her. With filth on her face she peers at the tree, a magnificent thing so marred by death that Amalia can nearly taste it. "How beautiful," she murmurs, absently laying a track of hard light over the ground that she might easier approach. "It reminds me of the Mathair, but... Sadder, somehow."
Amalia
