God help the outcasts, the tattered, the torn
Seeking an answer to why they were born
Bastien stayed close enough to listen, but didn't look at Wessex, instead glancing around the temple. A fine defence against the horrors outside to be sure, but it felt uncomfortably like a prison when Rexanna was outside and he couldn't get to her. She had gotten into the guild, but that didn't meant she was safe. There was plenty of Longnight left after all, and he knew being inside was not an absolute guarantee of safety.
Hearing faintly the list of injuries again made him sigh heavily, wishing his mind didn't provide him with imagined pictures of each any time he heard them. She is still alive, and we can work with that he tried to remind himself, closing his eyes and taking in a calming breath.
He waited to see what Wessex would say, hands in his pockets. Catching a monster in a net was ludicrous, he knew that much.
Hearing faintly the list of injuries again made him sigh heavily, wishing his mind didn't provide him with imagined pictures of each any time he heard them. She is still alive, and we can work with that he tried to remind himself, closing his eyes and taking in a calming breath.
He waited to see what Wessex would say, hands in his pockets. Catching a monster in a net was ludicrous, he knew that much.
Winds of misfortune have blown them about
You made the outcasts, don't cast them out
BASTIEN
