Amalthea is a lovely name, and it might almost be fit for a unicorn. But the way she says it, it sounds less like a name and more like a label put on a jar -- there for human reference, because names are human things. Greta wonders where it came from, if someone just picked it for her, like a pet, and tsks softly. "It's beautiful," she says, but her tone is wry, carrying an implicit: but that doesn't excuse it.

Amalthea shivers, and Greta presses her lips together, displeased with herself; the poor girl must be freezing, and clothes would go a lot further towards fixing that than a hug. She leans back, then gets to her feet and turns to scan the surrounding forest, both to give Amalthea a little privacy and to make sure no one else stumbles onto the scene until all parties are decent.

She doesn't risk turning back around until she hears Amalthea speak. Kindness feels like a feeble offering, too -- not worthless, but a mere drop in the bucket. What she really needs is a magic user (not a Witch, but one of the nicer sorts that Darrow boasts), someone who can actually fix her instead of just being kind to her.

"It's--" she almost says 'nothing,' then reconsiders. "It's the least I can do." She gives the girl a concerned once-over. "Are you steady enough to walk?" she asks, her arm half-outstretched in case she might need help.