they say that war is hell, but,
true hell begins when the battle ends
and you're the only one whose
hands still drip red
She was no stranger to the events that took place after the fall of the barrier. She had been there when Rory spit out his vitriol at her, she had been there to see the Naturals rise up against the Outlanders. She had been there for much of it, and her nose wrinkles in a small amount of distaste at the idea of it all before she shakes her head at his agreement. Had she had breath to sigh, she would have, but instead she leans against the root of the tree with a slightly raised brow toward him.
She watches him dig, hears and contemplates his words, before a thought hits her. How odd, how strange it would be to go to yet another Shrine with him. The last time had been to Safrin’s, and they had both been denied. And well, this time, she at least could use a reason to visit her newfound Goddess. If for nothing else than to replenish herself, to get the sluggishness out of her system. “We could go and ask her?” She poises the question softly, summoning a small sparkler in her hand to play with before it fades away, a dual purpose of offering some light to Deimos and his planting as well.
“I think Wessex might have already gone to see, but I haven’t talked to the Voice about it myself. Maybe there’s something we’re overlooking?” She hums thoughtfully, the dread and sorrow in her chest and stomach shifting toward something like conviction.
She watches him dig, hears and contemplates his words, before a thought hits her. How odd, how strange it would be to go to yet another Shrine with him. The last time had been to Safrin’s, and they had both been denied. And well, this time, she at least could use a reason to visit her newfound Goddess. If for nothing else than to replenish herself, to get the sluggishness out of her system. “We could go and ask her?” She poises the question softly, summoning a small sparkler in her hand to play with before it fades away, a dual purpose of offering some light to Deimos and his planting as well.
“I think Wessex might have already gone to see, but I haven’t talked to the Voice about it myself. Maybe there’s something we’re overlooking?” She hums thoughtfully, the dread and sorrow in her chest and stomach shifting toward something like conviction.
REXANNA
