mysterious as the dark side of the moon

They aren’t blind. They aren’t stupid, either. Her people are naturally cautious, cynical, and patient creatures. Life is often cruel here, and one doesn’t survive long without knowing when to bide their time and when to act. This… thing… that landed smack dab in the middle of the bubble has neither saved them nor killed them. It is silent, so some turn away and focus on more important matters. Others speculate wildly, test it when the Outlanders aren’t around, or just plain piss on it. Wessex is limited, of course, to the times when she can investigate. The whole daylight-fire thing is really the only problem with Ascending. There are ways around it, but it takes time, which she now has plenty of. It sometimes puts the future into a whole new perspective; with no one else to care for, Wessex has luxuries some only dream of - freedom, strength, and biological immunity. Even now, when she has to work under a sliver of a moon, her eyes adjust easily to black-on-black and the faint outlines of an entryway. The hood of her cloak slips off the back of her head as she steps back and gazes up at the top pointy bit, briefly wondering if she could climb the thing. Would she die if she fell? Probably not, but the risk of not being back in the shadows after the sun rises is too great. This is where an Attuned friend would come in handy… but Wessex is sorely lacking in friends. A soft sigh of frustration escapes. Calloused palms lie flat against the cold stone, forehead slowly coming to rest above them. Her eyes close and Wessex simply listens, breathing deeply and opening her God-given senses. Nothing’s ever happened before. She doesn’t know why she thinks trying this again will yield new results. WESSEX I whispered back, I am the storm.