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I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Her last foray into the Threshold was more than a little annoying; the thought of challenging the tiny horse just to reclaim some lost sense of honor has rattled around her head for a couple of days, but the ultimate conclusion is that if she can crush the little guy just by lying down, then it probably wouldn’t be a fair fight.
So. Onwards and upwards, as always.
Summer wains, but here, the trees seem to hold in the warmth and humidity of the dog days, those surprisingly hot, devilish days that trick you into thinking summer isn’t on its way out. Built like a tank, Wessex also tends to hold fast to natural warmth, and in the spots of sunlight that flash through the canopy show sweat-darkened skin amongst the naturally mottled patches. Today, her tail has also managed to hold fast to some overgrown plant matter, and she’s been unable to dislodge the vine wrapped around her longest spikes. It trails behind her, rustling when she would have silence – but she isn’t trying to surprise anyone, so there’s no real problem at the moment.
In a fairly clear area between copses, she spots an unfamiliar Pegasus and offers him a loud greeting and moves to meet him near the cluster. However, she is almost immediately sidetracked by the smell of apples, and suddenly salivating, finds that little treat far more important. “Hey, where did you find an apple tree?”
The Threshold is rather large, and Wessex hasn’t been here long enough to thoroughly explore every inch of it – but if she could have her own little apple secret, that would be the sweetest victory.
W E S S E X
@Yoruko
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
