Scent of Home

"Oh," Amalia gasps in surprise as Adam produces the guns. "They're beautiful." And indeed they are, lovingly wrought specimens in glittering steel, floral and favorable, strange foreign things. Are they functional, she wonders, instruments or planters? She reaches out to pluck it from his hand, but recoils as he continues to explain, a disappointed frown marring her face. "So they're weapons. Like a bow?" The girl bends down to peer more closely, unwilling to touch them yet. Now that their purpose has been revealed, the weapons do not appear particularly functional. How could they possibly shoot anything, with no system of tension, no arrows, no stone? The vague memory of a similar weapon drifts in her mind, and the girl looks back at Adam with some satisfaction, convinced she has solved the puzzle. "Do you blow into it?" The next description is far easier to parse. "We call those wagons," the baker replies, quietly delighted by their newfound commonality. "There's some horses- not too many inside the Grounds. Though, ah, there are a few unicorns. Companions, mostly." She shrugs. His compliment goes unanswered but for the flush on her cheeks a quirk of her lip, but Amalia can scarcely stifle the laughter that bubbles within her as he bites into the hot cake and immediately begins to pant. Glancing at him through almond eyes, she tries to affect an air of innocence, as though she had not expected this at all. "Are they okay?" the baker questions, dark gaze widening as she peers at him through lowered lashes, letting her natural insecurity contribute a not-entirely-false quaver to her voice. "You didn't have much of a bite... you don't have to have more, if it's bad." amalia been talking to myself forever and how I wish I knew me better