My cathedral is the badlands

WESSEX after all is said and done you're just a carnivore let you in and drink my blood you're nothing but a monster Well at least the Captain isn’t a total imbecile. Wessex’s lips tighten into a small, hard smile at the concession about Zariah, staying there through the insult about the Voice. She doesn’t miss the woman’s tensing and subsequent untensing, but it isn’t enough to excuse the words. Whether or not your kind means Ascended or Demi-gods or both, the Wraith doesn’t know. “And yet we’re uniquely suited for Halo,” she replies, not quite challenging though there is a slight tilt to her head. She understand the territorial nature of Naturals, having walked around the Ground for a year or so with her own hackles raised at the Outlanders. Sometimes they’re still up. “We could be great allies.” And who wouldn’t want people on their side who could stand watch in the cold far longer than any human? Who could see in the dark of Deepfrost? Could run as fast as an Ursur? They’d be fools to want otherwise.