for there are many ways to kill a man they say
Free magic? Free magic rocks?
Skepticism is very much alive in Wessex, some might say obnoxiously so, but she prefers to think of as a heavily healthy helping of it, enough to feed a beast of a woman like herself. Anyway, nothing comes for free, she immediately thinks, as the hawkers words drift over the sand on a light breeze. But out here, on the Isle, Wessex hasn’t much to do but relax, soooo… why not? Hauling herself up from a bed of long grasses, the horned woman gives her body a good shake to try and dust off excessive sand. It probably doesn’t do much, to be honest, because sand is insidious like that and gets everywhere one doesn’t want it to be.
At a leisurely pace, Wessex follows the (very) loud voice until she rounds an outcropping and finds a multi-colored bird squawking and hopping around, and two familiar forms already in attendance. As she draws closer, the mare offers both Albrecht and Amaris a slight smile and curt nod in greeting before turning her attention to the true spectacle. A contest, huh? Well that makes it slightly better she thinks, but the bird reeks of showmanship and she’s sure that anything that bedazzled isn’t to be trusted. Wessex parks herself between the old man and the dragon-mare, eyeing the macaw's plethora of 'treasure.'
“What’s the catch?” she asks dryly, eyes narrowing slightly. A contest sounds like fun, but not if there’s, say, fire involved, like the last little gathering she attended.
I am Iron and I Forge Myself
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