Roll Away Your Stone
12-01-2014, 10:08 PM
Despite the chill that hung heavy on the autumn air, an unmistakable warmth spread through her chest immediately upon seeing Amalia. She had been such a small, sweet girl -- and while that hadn't exactly changed, she was very much a woman now, though still small in stature and as delicate as ever. Her breath would catch in her throat as the daughter of his first litter moved forward, amazed at her presence despite having actively been seeking her out. Though she had reunited with her other children after searching for them, finding Amalia so soon after seemed too good to be true.
"Daughter..." she would repeat somewhat breathlessly. The embrace was welcome and she felt herself relax at her daughter's touch. There was a familiarness to her touch but a strangeness there too, for she hadn't seen her daughter in so long. She was still the same Amalia but Epiphron could recall how much she herself had changed in her youth, and she had no doubt Amalia had transformed as well.
As they broke their embrace -- slowly and somewhat unwillingly -- she studied her daughter quietly. "I agree," Epiphron would agree readily, nodding her head. She would mirror her daughter's motions, leaning back to recline to her haunches as she watched with unabashed interest. She had joined a pack up north she said, formerly known as Glaciem. Ruled by an Armada. Her expression, though guarded, faltered slightly. Nose would wrinkle slightly, subtly, ears flicking somewhat uncomfortably atop her head. There was so much Amalia didn't know, and she didn't know where to begin... if she ought to tell her at all. An uncomfortable tightness gripped at her chest, a painful wave of nostalgia flooding her being and bringing sudden tears to her eyes. They would not fall, but the pain she felt was written plainly across her features. "I see," she would manage to say.
"I have been okay," she told her with a slight shrug of her shoulders. It was a bit of an understatement. "I am just glad to see you alive and well..." Despite her missing tail, which she noticed quickly and nearly whimpered at the sight of, her daughter truly looked well. Amalia had been so frail and sickly, for so much of her childhood that it was a relief to see her like this. Head would tilt to the side as she gazed at her, eyes brimming with a level of emotion that she rarely displayed, even to her children. "Do they treat you well?" she would inquire suddenly, sharply, though she felt she already knew the answer despite her own hatred for the Armadas. What mattered most was that her daughter was doing well. "Please tell me they do."
"Daughter..." she would repeat somewhat breathlessly. The embrace was welcome and she felt herself relax at her daughter's touch. There was a familiarness to her touch but a strangeness there too, for she hadn't seen her daughter in so long. She was still the same Amalia but Epiphron could recall how much she herself had changed in her youth, and she had no doubt Amalia had transformed as well.
As they broke their embrace -- slowly and somewhat unwillingly -- she studied her daughter quietly. "I agree," Epiphron would agree readily, nodding her head. She would mirror her daughter's motions, leaning back to recline to her haunches as she watched with unabashed interest. She had joined a pack up north she said, formerly known as Glaciem. Ruled by an Armada. Her expression, though guarded, faltered slightly. Nose would wrinkle slightly, subtly, ears flicking somewhat uncomfortably atop her head. There was so much Amalia didn't know, and she didn't know where to begin... if she ought to tell her at all. An uncomfortable tightness gripped at her chest, a painful wave of nostalgia flooding her being and bringing sudden tears to her eyes. They would not fall, but the pain she felt was written plainly across her features. "I see," she would manage to say.
"I have been okay," she told her with a slight shrug of her shoulders. It was a bit of an understatement. "I am just glad to see you alive and well..." Despite her missing tail, which she noticed quickly and nearly whimpered at the sight of, her daughter truly looked well. Amalia had been so frail and sickly, for so much of her childhood that it was a relief to see her like this. Head would tilt to the side as she gazed at her, eyes brimming with a level of emotion that she rarely displayed, even to her children. "Do they treat you well?" she would inquire suddenly, sharply, though she felt she already knew the answer despite her own hatred for the Armadas. What mattered most was that her daughter was doing well. "Please tell me they do."