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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Altar is going to be in for a surprise when he finds out the Basin is led by two mares, one of whom is quite the enthusiastic chatterbox. Wessex, personally, runs on the quieter side, and she can’t wait to see what the crazed natterings of Beloved might elicit from Altar in all his mystical responses. Her head tilts to one side, half-amused at his cryptic (is he a Shaman of sorts? His response indicates some sort of religious dependence) responses. But she does not press him for more information, more concerned about the nasty-looking wounds than whether or not he’s going to go to turn into some sort of fanatic.
The Basin can handle itself. They live in the valley of glaciers, for goodness’ sake.
“Well, that’s good, because in the winter we’re covered in snow and ice. Or so I hear.” She manages to avoid shivering at the thought. Her mass will come in handy in keeping warm, but that doesn’t mean she’ll enjoy the dead of winter. “For now, it’s pleasant.”
At his request for water, Wessex dips her horned head in assent, then jerks it to her left. “There’s a pool close by. I’ll show you. Weaver -” her gaze turns to the painted pegasus, with a question that was in no way trying to assume control of the situation, but is merely a practicality. She’s the only one who can fly, and if something were to happen on the trip back, Wessex is far closer to Altar’s size than her fellow soldier is. “ - would you mind flying ahead and finding a healer? His burns look like they need immediate attention.”
And that is a thing Wessex knows little about. She's far more the 'draw blood' than the 'stop the bleeding' type.
W E S S E X
@Altar
@Weaver
We can move this thread to the Basin whenever! Yay! <3
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
