I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

Ever the vanguard, Wessex is surprised to hear yet another group knocking on their door. After a moment’s pause she realizes that it makes perfect sense for the summer to be so incredibly busy - no one but Basiners want to come this far North in the dead of winter. Emphasis on dead. As in, they’d probably freeze their noses and wingtips off, and then they’d be some pretty odd looking horses. Hell, the Corporal wonders how a hardy, badass soul like herself is going to make it through what is sure to be the most trying part of the year. Wind, snow, ice, and only the hot springs and a bearskin cape to keep her warm (perhaps she should make friends with the Weavers…). It shall be an entirely new experience, and one that she is ultimately dreading.

The mottled, horned mare is also ignorant to whatever history the two herds have between them - the racism ingrained in elders, the harsh words and deeds that drew a line in the dirt and clearly divided the two groups. All the soldier knows is that one healer came to talk to Tia, and he seemed a bit like a pushover - another came to court Tia - he was nice (though you would never hear her admit it), but stoked her jealousy. Neither were threatening, and perhaps it is because their lovely blue Lady has the whole of Helovia under her spell.

Wessex is quickly learning that she is the jealous type, she just… isn’t able to act on it and so must channel the resulting frustrations appropriately. Usually in the training arena, or by working up a sweat.

Today, Wessex finds that she is not quite as early as she thought, so the spidey senses begin to relax as she draws abreast of Erebos and Weaver, knowing that whatever is to happen, she is in good company. Already, she recognized two: Ampere, and the tiny, obnoxious one.. Having never heard the mare’s rank, the Corporal salutes the blue and black mare with an easy smile (the type she offers to her fellow comrades in arms, for there is no ill will from their spar. “Ampere,” her deep voice rumbles across the flat terrain. “Well met, again.” Reptilian eyes shift from one visitor to the next as her ears flicker ‘round, and she sorts out her first impressions.

Bending down to scratch a spot on her foreleg with one of her horns, she whispers over to Erebos, in words that should remain private, given the distance between the groups “The small one is a fool.” She’s sure that if Weaver is keen enough to hear her assertion, she’d agree. But there is nothing to betray her sentiment about the half-horse, as Wessex’s tail moves back and forth in an easy sway and she settles in to wait for either Tia or Rikyn.  

W E S S E X