[Training] for old time's sake

The dogs know her scent, though she has been absent for quite some time. Ella and Vaya may not come rushing to greet the Ascended (if anything they watch her warily, not out of fear, but confusion for what she is and what she can do in the night, with the monsters), but they at least keep quiet and let her enter the farmstead unchallenged. Unsure of whether she’s looking for a place to stay, hide, or just escape the shitfest in the Hollowed Grounds, Wessex stares at the farmhouse she once rebuilt with a word and a promise (a broken promise - a thing she must speak to her Lady about, but when, oh when?), but can’t bring herself to go in. It’s not the light she wants. Not the darkness, either, because she isn’t hiding, not really. She’s tying up loose ends. Just in case. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best - that sort of survivalist mantra. They didn’t come for her at the Infirmary, so she slipped out the next time and made her way from shadow to shadow, as quickly and silently as possible into the Outskirts, using the paths mostly grown over from disuse. And they brought her by Rory’s place. Rory. Also absent. But perhaps more her kind right now than Amalia or Deimos or Melita. They can sit in silence together, at least, and it won’t be uneasy. But even that thought isn’t comforting. Assuming that the man is in his lit house, she makes her way to the barn, sliding open the barn door as unobtrusively as possible; it doesn’t work, the hinges squeak and Wessex grimaces, not wanting to be taken for a thief. “Rory?” she calls quietly into the sweet-smelling building, and then glancing behind her, in case he should appear from the house. WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm