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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Well aren’t they just the motleyest crew of soldiers wandering around the Steppe with their fearless leader? Wessex brings up the rear, just in front of Beloved, a tiny white unicorn over whom she towers. But as she knows full well, looks aren’t everything. Looks are transient - she’s recently been forcefully upgraded, and lucky for her, it seems to suit the horned woman well. Her newest accoutrement is a lovely, thick lion tail, and though she’s still getting accustomed to the weight, Wessex does rather enjoy lashing it about like a whip.
It twitches now, ever so slightly in annoyance as the rest of the group is either silent, snarky, or just plain bizarre. An uneasy silence settles once Beloved makes her morbid observations, and after a moment Wessex clears her throat. Kohl-rimmed eyes turn upwards, and with a jerk of her head, indicates a couple of vultures lazily circling in the vicinity. “Carrion birds. There’s likely a kill nearby, and it could mean a predator is lingering in the area. It’s the birthing season, so there could be a pack, or a mother and its young, in which case, we should keep our young under watchful eyes.”
Her lips twist into a thoughtful expression, trying to think of something else. Ah, the silence. Her ears swivel around for a moment, before lowering her voice. “The smaller wildlife is silent. It’s either us they’re wary of, or something else.” And indeed, there is nothing in the air but Beloved’s creepy giggling, which enough to make her want to turn around and tell her to get herself under control. A loose cannon is a liability, and it seemed to Wessex that the mare had a couple of screws missing.
W E S S E X
@Erebos @Weaver @Vertigo @Beloved
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
