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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Wessex blows a warm stream of air out of her nose as the curious pup bounces over and extends its paws. Her (?) fearlessness is adorable, she thinks, especially in the face of such ‘large’ creatures. It is admirable and adorable, and for a hot second the warrior wants the pup to stay – but it scampers off to the next horse in line, and the mottled mare’s attention is drawn to the Father Otter. Not until the second round of charades does the Corporal seem to understand the small mammal’s predicament – which is not good. There are hunters about (she’d recently seen a cheetah made entirely of flames, so… predators are both mortal and magical in these parts), and a curious little pup would most likely be easy pickings.
The group begins to divide itself – some joining the trundling Father and kid, others dutifully acting as babysitters for that bold little rascal. Wessex, however, notices another horned mare offering the final pup a ride (the gray’s antlers are far more suited to perching than Wessex’s sharp, pointy ones), and since there are only two, Wessex assigns herself to that group. Pulling up alongside her chosen team, she offers a nod to the mare and introduces herself. “I’m Wessex – shall we?” Before all three head off in an opposite direction of the other two.
Surely someone will find the missing pup.
W E S S E X
Wessex goes with Aelfwine and the third pup
Seeking a Hellfire Hellhound
No prior refusals
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
