AmaLIa
shield of safrin
Amalia is stretching when Amun appears, bent forward in the bed and reaching for her toes. It's remarkably easy, given that she cannot feel any tightness or pain in her legs, but she tries not to dwell on that fact. She's determined to exercise, at least a little, to keep her body (and her brain) from atrophying into dust.
She turns her head to look at the potter as he takes a seat beside her, surprised by the body language as well as the rather subdued smile. Frowning the Shield rolls herself upwards, until she is sitting with her legs outstretched. They're on display, no blanket over them, and she feels suddenly self conscious about the skin and hair and uselessness of it all.
Grabbing a sheet to pull over herself, it takes a moment for Amalia to properly look at Amun. "They're fine. They have their hands full, and- Vi's beard, Amun, what happened to your hand?"
She turns her head to look at the potter as he takes a seat beside her, surprised by the body language as well as the rather subdued smile. Frowning the Shield rolls herself upwards, until she is sitting with her legs outstretched. They're on display, no blanket over them, and she feels suddenly self conscious about the skin and hair and uselessness of it all.
Grabbing a sheet to pull over herself, it takes a moment for Amalia to properly look at Amun. "They're fine. They have their hands full, and- Vi's beard, Amun, what happened to your hand?"
you can't choose what stays
and what fades away
and what fades away
