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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Like the Pied Piper lead the young through the streets of an ungrateful town, so did Wessex lead the two young adults (boys, men? Where is the mark delineating maturity?) back towards the Basin. Whether the march is silent, or full of sarcastic chatter, it matters little to the Corporal - her good will towards colts has already been established. The only thing that could change it would be an attack on either herself or a herdland they know nothing about.
The land darkens and slowly but surely her scars begin to glow a very light fluorescent green - three slash marks down her flank - the signs of survival. Those marks would make for a far more interesting piece of conversation than whether or not the Basin was better than the Throat. Unless Levitz is feeling chatty and wants to start divulging information about his past to a pair of complete strangers - that would be even more interesting. But Wessex does not press either of her companions with questions, understanding the need for privacy and whatnot. Besides, some concentration is needed to see the way in the dark, and to look out for danger.
When the trio crosses a sort of flat, open land bridge, Wessex turns and says simply, “We are close, stick near me please.” Out of the dimness, the large, rusted Sentinel looms as their protector, though neither of the boys need know that it no longer rises to the occasion. Oh… The Throat works with metal… Pausing briefly, Wessex turns her gaze to Saoirse and wonders if she should say anything about the situation… but ultimately decides against it, for it is not her place. Tiamat should undertake that endeavor. Their blue, beloved Lady undoubtedly has connections down there.
Stopping at the hooves of the Sentinel, Wessex turns to Levitz and Saoirse. “Well, here we are. Would you like to come in?”
W E S S E X
@Levitz
@Saoirse
Sorry for the delay!
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
