[Seasonal Event] Many Paws Make Light Work

She does not say anything in reply. She has never been good with words, not a poet or bard like him. Amalia speaks most through actions, feelings, expression, intonation. Deepening her purr, she lowers her head to wrap over his shoulder, a warm bastion for his hurt, an anchor in the dark. Unaccustomed to being the one offering shelter, the girl finds she relishes the role. It is easier to give love than receive it, and Amalia has so much love to give. So she stays for him, absorbing his pain willingly onto her shoulders, if only it means his own weight will be less. The losses she has felt, the wounds she has worn- they are nothing by comparison, and the girl feels shame for her obstinance, her unfounded belief that he ought to soothe her. It is her role to help, to serve, to carry the past. She is good for nothing, if not this. She let's him guide their next actions. She will stay here, or lay back down, curled around her pack. She will fight their foes, right their wrongs, tell him stories and songs. Amalia will do whatever is asked by the ones she holds most dear. The only thing he must not ask of her is that she leave. 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