Amalia
the shield of safrin
And here it is, the crux of why she did not seek his help. She'd hoped he wouldn't bring up their fight, throw her hypocrisy in her face. Defensive, the Shield feathers her jaw, resisting the urge to point out that what she wants is different. That she never asked to be a soldier, never wanted to rend and cause violence; that she is a shield at the end of the day, even if she picks up a sword.
Inhaling deeply, Amalia takes a moment. When she responds it is in a low, quiet voice. "I know," the girl says simply, softly, not looking at her husband-to-be. Curls of lilac join her gold hair; horn nubs sprout upon her brow. Their argument had been over a season ago; the world and her view of it had shifted in that time. Can't he see how difficult this is for her, how far she is from who she was and how frightening it is?
She says no more, determined to follow his instruction diligently, hoping the hard work will relieve the tension that simmers and stokes between them. And she'd thought she'd done well, that he might be proud of her ability to replicate, her willingness to learn, but apparently she'd been wrong. She can feel herself bristle at the harshness of his stare, the words feeling lashes, like stings and barbs. Anger flashes hot within her, masking her frustration and pain: "You don't have to teach me," the Shield snaps softly, meeting his gaze with her own dark eyes and hoping he cannot see the pain beneath the rage. "I thought you would be glad. Proud, that I'm trying to be more like you."
Inhaling deeply, Amalia takes a moment. When she responds it is in a low, quiet voice. "I know," the girl says simply, softly, not looking at her husband-to-be. Curls of lilac join her gold hair; horn nubs sprout upon her brow. Their argument had been over a season ago; the world and her view of it had shifted in that time. Can't he see how difficult this is for her, how far she is from who she was and how frightening it is?
She says no more, determined to follow his instruction diligently, hoping the hard work will relieve the tension that simmers and stokes between them. And she'd thought she'd done well, that he might be proud of her ability to replicate, her willingness to learn, but apparently she'd been wrong. She can feel herself bristle at the harshness of his stare, the words feeling lashes, like stings and barbs. Anger flashes hot within her, masking her frustration and pain: "You don't have to teach me," the Shield snaps softly, meeting his gaze with her own dark eyes and hoping he cannot see the pain beneath the rage. "I thought you would be glad. Proud, that I'm trying to be more like you."
everything that drowned me
taught me how to swim
taught me how to swim
