[She herself contains expressions that aren't easily deciphered. There's the barest movement of ears, as if inclining to listen intently, the motion to brow bones, quiet blows from muzzle that push her nose forward. Nuanced things that could (and sometimes are, even for her) chalked up to meaningless micro-expressions. Friendly dogs understand very little human language, but are still content to listen, compelled by amicable tones.
Whether realized or not, she's truly listening here, engaged, absorbing what she can, wondering at the mystery and history giving the simple syllables Allura shares the weight behind them. I can’t stop thinking about home. What I needed to do. What I should have done. These, accompanied with that expression, strike her the most. A mirror of words. Inwardly, she's cursing her inability to verbalize, and her frustration produces in fretful whimpers, while she tries to nudge snout under hand, keep this young lady as tethered to this place with her as possible.
Many times, countless, innumerable times, she's thought similar things. These are the words of someone who's lost a great deal; they're the words of someone who may have once been a pillar, or were regarded as a pillar, or who made themselves into a pillar, knowing that there were many who needed one, some symbol of hope. Her heart lurches a little, because as they are now, she can't tell her as painful as it is, staring behind yourself means you can't see to take a step forward. History has a way of following like a shadow, but to find footing in the present, to learn from what happened in order to proceed and strive to do better, is all anyone can do. That has to be enough. It has to mean something.
She is tired, but she's thankful she found her. That she can know from her own account Allura will make it back not only in one piece, but not alone. She wants to acknowledge how difficult traveling alone, after awakening the way she did, must have been. Not that she can do this well, all the same, she still swipes tongue a couple times, grooming gestures, over the back of one of her hands. The equivalent of a mother patting the back of a hand, all steeped in the same meaning: comfort. Concerned she may end up losing feeling from legs, Ammy picks herself up one more time to lay out beside Allura instead, but she tucks in close all the same, curling her legs under herself, and lets her head settle finally near shoulder.]
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Whether realized or not, she's truly listening here, engaged, absorbing what she can, wondering at the mystery and history giving the simple syllables Allura shares the weight behind them. I can’t stop thinking about home. What I needed to do. What I should have done. These, accompanied with that expression, strike her the most. A mirror of words. Inwardly, she's cursing her inability to verbalize, and her frustration produces in fretful whimpers, while she tries to nudge snout under hand, keep this young lady as tethered to this place with her as possible.
Many times, countless, innumerable times, she's thought similar things. These are the words of someone who's lost a great deal; they're the words of someone who may have once been a pillar, or were regarded as a pillar, or who made themselves into a pillar, knowing that there were many who needed one, some symbol of hope. Her heart lurches a little, because as they are now, she can't tell her as painful as it is, staring behind yourself means you can't see to take a step forward. History has a way of following like a shadow, but to find footing in the present, to learn from what happened in order to proceed and strive to do better, is all anyone can do. That has to be enough. It has to mean something.
She is tired, but she's thankful she found her. That she can know from her own account Allura will make it back not only in one piece, but not alone. She wants to acknowledge how difficult traveling alone, after awakening the way she did, must have been. Not that she can do this well, all the same, she still swipes tongue a couple times, grooming gestures, over the back of one of her hands. The equivalent of a mother patting the back of a hand, all steeped in the same meaning: comfort. Concerned she may end up losing feeling from legs, Ammy picks herself up one more time to lay out beside Allura instead, but she tucks in close all the same, curling her legs under herself, and lets her head settle finally near shoulder.]