dont know where the lights are taking us
but something in the night is dangerous
but something in the night is dangerous
Things are moving quickly now - almost too quickly. Her body seems to vibrate with urgency and though she can’t physically create the hormones needed for adrenaline and stress again, her brain seems to be a wild creature right now.
It’s time to tame it. The weapons of the former barracks call to her, seem to make her limbs move of their own accord into the back, open part of the building. It needs to be cleaned up again - and snow plays in a gentle dusting on the ground, the weapons (for the most part) protected under eaves and in closets. Wessex goes to take them out, methodically choosing an assortment that brings her joy when she feels the weight of the instrument in her hands.
Yes, the Wraith did just Marie Kondo herself a small group of blades and other sharp bits. Arrows. A bow. The knives in her boots and the dagger at her hip.
What would be most useful for LongNight? Fire arrows, perhaps. Reaching for the bow, her hand suddenly stills as she’s taken back to when she and Rex worked on their aim in the Outskirts. The memory only lasts a moment before it urges her to take up the wood and gut-string and nock an arrow back. She pulls, looks down the line, pauses, and then lets it fly.
It thuds into wood, the back end quivering with unspent energy while the tip is stuck fast into a beam.
Wessex takes up another, frowning ever so slightly. She can do better.
It’s time to tame it. The weapons of the former barracks call to her, seem to make her limbs move of their own accord into the back, open part of the building. It needs to be cleaned up again - and snow plays in a gentle dusting on the ground, the weapons (for the most part) protected under eaves and in closets. Wessex goes to take them out, methodically choosing an assortment that brings her joy when she feels the weight of the instrument in her hands.
Yes, the Wraith did just Marie Kondo herself a small group of blades and other sharp bits. Arrows. A bow. The knives in her boots and the dagger at her hip.
What would be most useful for LongNight? Fire arrows, perhaps. Reaching for the bow, her hand suddenly stills as she’s taken back to when she and Rex worked on their aim in the Outskirts. The memory only lasts a moment before it urges her to take up the wood and gut-string and nock an arrow back. She pulls, looks down the line, pauses, and then lets it fly.
It thuds into wood, the back end quivering with unspent energy while the tip is stuck fast into a beam.
Wessex takes up another, frowning ever so slightly. She can do better.
