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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Alriiiiiiight, baby otters are awfully cute. Wessex can admit that much, and friendly one’s antics are endearing, if nothing else. The two large, dappled gray and horned mares walk together, scanning the grassland in comfortable silence until a shrill sound from behind them draws their attention. It can only be one thing; the lost pup. Pivoting on her heels, Wessex keeps pace with Aelfwine, their long legs easily covering the distance between the trio and the rushing river. But in all the hustle and bustle, they’ve forgotten the Father Otter. He might best know how to save his child.
Deviating a bit to find him downstream with the third kid, Wessex pulls an Aelfwine and offers them a ride, if they so choose, up to the others. Maybe the Father would be able to jump in and catch his kid, or maybe he can direct his equine chariot to do something the others haven’t yet thought of. Either way, she figures he should be there when they save his son.
Parents can be possessive (worried) like that. Wessex imagines that the kid is probably due for a big hug and a scolding.
W E S S E X
Wessex seeks a Hellfire Hellhound
No prior refusals
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
