I know, I fought you in the dark
Mr. Walker spurs a memory, a flickering image of a man and a woman and their sheep farm. “Ah!” she exclaims in recognition. “That’s it. You’re Emik and Tess’s son.” Or one of them? That, too, is fuzzy, but memory of the young couple’s success is stronger than whomever they’ve grown into. And she’s clearly checked out in the kid department; if the youth weren’t interested in hunting or weapons, they didn’t tend to be on Wessex’s radar. “Better sheep than nothing at all,” a look from her reminding him of the many who’d starved or tried to farm, but failed. The number of lines who have died out - her own included, whenever she passes - almost seem larger than those who have survived the centuries in the bubble.
Still, it isn’t a sharp look. And she’s moved on, nodding at the search for mushrooms. A mushroom soup seems like a lovely thing… it’s too bad only the sharpest of tastes activate her taste buds now. Something subtle and earthy and warm would have made her quite happy not so long ago. Again, her eyes drift a bit as a particularly savage flash lights up the distant storm. “Those storms,” she says with an indication of her chin. “I want to see what’s on the other side, but it’s proving more difficult than I thought it’d be.”
the wraith
WESSEX
