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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
The young woman (it seems odd to say woman, perhaps because she sees herself without a sex - not in that she does not enjoy caresses and pleasure, but that she has never distinguished between the duties of the male and female gender. She crosses both) holds an infinite amount of promise, as do most who are their age. Her body already bears witness to struggle, change, and survival. A mind is a curious thing, however, it evolves with its caretakers, easily shifting from one position to the next with nary a pause to look behind at what used to be. There’s no telling if she is exactly what the youthful General is seeking, if she could possibly be all his hopes for the future of the Basin coiled within an eight-horned figurine.
But she’d be damned if she doesn’t try. Loyalty can be just as admirable and defiance; synonymous even, to the rebel-rousing protestor.
Erebos relaxes, and that is Wessex’s cue to also drop her heightened formality. At ease. Fractions of her story come out in straightforward tones, and she assumes they will be enough to satisfy their curiosity. “I spent the last year in a company of hired soldiers. I’ve seen three large battles, but my assignments were mostly to protect, given my age and size.” Which is most of the truth. It shouldn’t matter that when she’d joined the merc company, she only had four horns, and left with eight. Or that she has no idea what her body will throw at her next. Better to take it in stride.
“When our leader was killed, I left. His second and I… did not get along.” And the truth is that she doesn’t know if she prefers wandering to staying still. Wessex doesn’t have anything to keep her in a single place, so why bother? Money was money. But no one ever bothered her while she was alone, and she can forage, so really, the mare is quite self sufficient when it comes to her physical needs. Her emotional needs might be another story.
W E S S E X
@Erebos @Timaat
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
