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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
In truth, the sleek and angular woman who bedecked herself in sparkly bits and enchanting loops of hair did not stay in Wessex’s mind for long. Not because the soldier did not find her match’s confidence and easy sexuality enchanting, but because there was simply so much else to do. As far as the horned woman is concerned, her match was such stuff as dreams were made of, prancing in and out of slumber on an irregular basis (only, it seemed, when her body did not immediately yank her down, down, down, into unconscious sleep). They were pleasant evenings, and in them she found herself far more smooth than her bumbling first impression could ever relay.
Like most ego driven events, we are usually either magnificent or pathetic; there is rarely a run-of-the-mill dream.
With summer officially here, Wessex finds herself wanting to explore before the weather turns cool again. She casts a wider course on her patrols, creating a map in her mind of a land that is becoming larger and larger and larger. The sun’s heat beats down upon her mottled back, burning hotter upon this green refuge than the thistle-clad plains below. Despite the fairly recent events, the field is peaceful - full of natural noises and a light breeze. Grass rustles with the movement of small rodents, while songbirds sit, singing in the trees on the fringe. It is an absolutely perfect day. Even the clouds are fluffy and light, as they float slowly across a light blue sky.
How out of place she must look - the mutant in an untroubled, untouched paradise.
W E S S E X
@Manon
Yayayayayay.
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
