WESSEX
True to her word, Wessex reappears the next night. The tree seems to beckon her with the pulse of their Goddess, the heartbeat that doesn’t actually exist in any of them, yet thrums from somewhere inside themselves and recognizes the obsidian as their source. She seamlessly lowers herself to the ground, sitting far enough from the base of the tree so as to not have to crane her neck too much (old habits - it wouldn’t hurt if she had to). For a moment she just sits in the silence and soaks it up, relaxing for what seems like the first time in days.
“Hello again, Lady. I came for my own little chat.”
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
