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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Always delighted to see Nimue, Wessex extends her velvet nose and greets her with a gentle stream of warm air and then a wide smile. She laughs freely at the companion’s antics and quietly enjoys her presence at the warrior’s side. Nimue, of course, heralds Tiamat’s approach, and an orange-eyed glance behind her tells the Corporal that their Lady is indeed coming to investigate. On a completely unrelated note, Wessex whispers to the little orca, “Remind me to tell you about the other whale companion I met!”
Friends help friends out - and Wessex is of the naive opinion that with so few Leviathans about, they should all know each other. In species solidarity. Or something like that.
“Tia,” the mottled mass of a mare replies, dipping her crowned head with a half-smirk on her lips. The soldier, always one for duty, feels bound to stay despite the lingering feelings that she is an unnecessary guard dog, baying loudly at strangers until her kind and loving mistress comes to bid her be quiet. The beauty tames the beast. A third Basiner appears, one whom Wessex is unfamiliar with - but her presence requires a flash of a smile in greeting, and then the soldier is on lookout again. For what? Who knows. But it is what Wessex does best.
In front of an array of horns, her ears swivel and pick up names: Lena, Astarot, Zafir. Belatedly, after all the introductions have been made, she adds rather gruffly, “and I’m Wessex.” All-heal for knowledge? Of what? Other herbs and bits of greenery they might have up in this ice-bound wilderness? She should speak to Tia about an expedition to the South, if they’d like to trade for knowledge.
Cross-training should be of vital importance.
W E S S E X
@Tiamat @Lena @Astarot
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
