I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

Erebos silently approaches and to her surprise, halts next to the horned solder. Returning the General’s greeting with a nod of her own, she masks the little thrill that runs through her, remaining silent and observant, keen to see the members of the herd and watch how they act together. Are there noticeable fractures, or a sense of cohesion despite the different paths taken? How does the death of a leader impact them? Does the glue melt away?

She takes a moment from transcribing mental notes to greet her favorite blue mare and floating whale pair. To Tiamat, Wessex returns the smile with a genuine one of her own and brief touch along her back, glad to see that the sea maiden has recovered from the incident in the Marsh. The companion, however, gets her words. “Hello, Nimue,” she says quietly, eyeing the shy leviathan with a teasingly kind eye. “You’re looking lovely today,” she continues, before Tiamat’s words to the God pull her attention. Spark? Like the initial bits that light tinder? It’s kind of an odd thing to be the God of, don’t you think? But there are… other things that are clearly more important than his title, so Wessex shoves that thought aside for now.

Flanked by Tiamat and Erebos, Wessex can’t help but feel more... comfortable? No, comfortable isn’t the right word. Secure. Valued. Important. Validated. They are simple gestures, and the two who graciously offer them are more than likely unaware of their value and Wessex’s gratitude. That’s not to say that she has confidence issues; no, the newest soldier is simply keenly aware of her low status and is eager to prove her worth.

Which seems to come sooner, rather than later, when one stallion seemingly declares it open season on Wessex. He nearly bumbles into her, which is a not initially well received as she takes a small step back and narrows kohl-rimmed eyes at him. It isn’t until the stallion’s rear end is shoved in her face that her ears seem to be glued to her skull. Hell fucking no. She is not above helping a herd-member out, but what he asks is embarrassing for her and inappropriate to ask a stranger - let alone ask it in front of a God. The trio of Tiamat-Wessex-Erebos aren’t exactly front and center, but as the God begins to speak and the stallion’s leather strap literally twitches towards her, she has to restrain herself from placing a well-placed nip on his ass.

He could go ahead and make a fool of himself, but he wouldn’t make one of her.

Because she is listening attentively (hard not to do when his voice rolls over them like thunderclouds, promising punishment to goof-offs and electrocution to any naughty little foals in its subtext), and as the God reveals bits and pieces of the past, it all begins to come together: Erebos’s grief, Kaos’s words, they all begin to paint a picture of this world she’s suddenly stepped into. And then her friend is named Lady, and Wessex turns her head to take in their newest leader. When the God has stopped speaking, she is the first to offer her respects and regards. “Congratulations, Tiamat,” Wessex offers in a somewhat intimate tone, bumping her neck again in the equivalent of an awkward handshake-hug combo.

W E S S E X