Amalia
The man is a picture of placidity, apparently unruffled by her appearance beneath his tree. Is he mocking her? She cannot be sure: it does not seem likely, but his smile worries and unsettles the girl, makes her wonder if he has taken the warnings to heed. "It is." Her own tone is heavy with somber gravity, an earnest honesty. There are too many Outlanders here this year, unaware and ignorant; Amalia fears for them all, and can only pray they know enough to fear for themselves. The world seems tame now, blanketed in snow and caught in lingering twilight, but cruelty lurks beneath the surface, a darkness as familiar as breathing to those raised behind the magnetic walls. There is no escaping, nowhere to run. All they can do is prepare, and survive. She thinks these things, but does not say them, her eyes falling back on the luxere as she worries her lower lip.
Fortunately, the silence does not last for long. A melody breaks her moody discontent; blinking, Amalia turns back to the stranger, drawn to the sudden whistled notes. It is a song she does not recognize from a place she does not know, and yet as the man continues to create a symphony the girl feels nearly compelled to hum along. Leaning on the trunk of his tree she hums a handful of alto notes, finding the melody and catching time, much to the interest of the surrounding deer. It is a strangely comfortable thing, an intimacy of a sort. She hopes it will compel the luxere to look at him fondly. He will need all the help he can get.
Scratching a luxere between its crown, she does not look up as the man descends. "I don't know." A note of sadness mars her face; she frowns again, thoughtful, remembering the night. "He had red antlers. I think it scared the others." Different. Confused. Alone. Again, the girl's heart aches for the creature, and she wonders where he has gone. The gift of the antlers sits in her shop. Perhaps she will take one for Rae, in the spring.
"I pulled off his antlers, and he ran away. I hope he found his herd. It is hard to be alone."
Fortunately, the silence does not last for long. A melody breaks her moody discontent; blinking, Amalia turns back to the stranger, drawn to the sudden whistled notes. It is a song she does not recognize from a place she does not know, and yet as the man continues to create a symphony the girl feels nearly compelled to hum along. Leaning on the trunk of his tree she hums a handful of alto notes, finding the melody and catching time, much to the interest of the surrounding deer. It is a strangely comfortable thing, an intimacy of a sort. She hopes it will compel the luxere to look at him fondly. He will need all the help he can get.
Scratching a luxere between its crown, she does not look up as the man descends. "I don't know." A note of sadness mars her face; she frowns again, thoughtful, remembering the night. "He had red antlers. I think it scared the others." Different. Confused. Alone. Again, the girl's heart aches for the creature, and she wonders where he has gone. The gift of the antlers sits in her shop. Perhaps she will take one for Rae, in the spring.
"I pulled off his antlers, and he ran away. I hope he found his herd. It is hard to be alone."
