[Seasonal Event] Many Paws Make Light Work

Foxes, it turns out, shed powerfully against a cat's tongue. Amalia draws her tongue away and it is coated in white fur, thick and cottony in her mouth. Snorting, the big cat attempts to spit it out, a comical series of sounds sputtering from her lips. When at last she is rid of the fluff she settles back down, wrapping her long body closely around Jigano and Isuma, her head resting peacefully on the grass. For a moment she waits, content yet aware, nose and ears ready to capture any new threat. But things seem quiet for the moment, and Amalia let's herself relax. Jigano's gentle question stops the purr in her breast. Tell me about your grandmother. Tensing slightly, she turns away, the wound still painful despite years of scarring, raw and tender beneath her skin. Amalia is silent for a few seconds, her dark eyes distant as she stares at the shrine. What is there to tell him? Where to start? A million stories and memories fill her mind, but they all seem too small, too personal, too precious to lay bare for the world and it's judgment. She is a hoarder of memories, for the are all she has left. Swallowing, the leopard physically sighs, her mental voice a quiet, earnest thing, shaking slightly as she recounts. She loved the old gods, especially Rae and Frey. She would tell me stories about them, and she taught me to pray. This was one of her favorite places. a m a l i a You were young and you'd stare With a reverence unimpaired Searching in your dark eyes to find the stars already there