You won't go lonely into this fight, if you just hold me we will survive
The emotion that she had held rigid and far from reach when Sunjata returned home presses against shoddy seams, surging forward in vain attempt to be seen and comforted, to have someone take care of her for once. Wessex's arms cradle and console in equal measure, and for a moment she can envision a moment of relief. Of being seen, heard, validated for her own struggles that may not show on skin the way it does for her husbands, but which have left deep wounds all the same. She goes to speak, lips parting, ready to chance everything with the demigod who takes rank in Hotaru's intimately small camp of loved ones, and then the chance is stolen away in vertigo and magical intervention.
By the time she feels solid on her feet once more, her lips are firmly sealed. Now is not the time. If ever there is to be one. Instead there is a wasteland of cracked earth and a thankfully setting sun to deal with. Yippee.
Wessex at least seems to know the area by name if nothing else, which is a comfort. Not one so large as the hand that finds her own, which she squeezes firmly and holds tight to. "Some sort of magical interference then?" Squinting at the skyline, she presses her shoulder to Wessex's, and notes the keen absence of Atlas. Great, at least he could have carried them, and if things go further south could have healed Wessex as well even as an Ascended. Gods damn it. "Did it spit you back out, or should we start walking?" Concern immediately draws her pale brows close, and she tilts her head upward to rove over the woman's face. "How sensitive are you to the sun? We'll have to find shade before morning, or I can fashion something from my shirt." As a seamstress she can at least make something utilitarian, if not fashionable. Whatever it takes to keep Wessex safe. A little sunburn won't bother her if that's what it comes to.
By the time she feels solid on her feet once more, her lips are firmly sealed. Now is not the time. If ever there is to be one. Instead there is a wasteland of cracked earth and a thankfully setting sun to deal with. Yippee.
Wessex at least seems to know the area by name if nothing else, which is a comfort. Not one so large as the hand that finds her own, which she squeezes firmly and holds tight to. "Some sort of magical interference then?" Squinting at the skyline, she presses her shoulder to Wessex's, and notes the keen absence of Atlas. Great, at least he could have carried them, and if things go further south could have healed Wessex as well even as an Ascended. Gods damn it. "Did it spit you back out, or should we start walking?" Concern immediately draws her pale brows close, and she tilts her head upward to rove over the woman's face. "How sensitive are you to the sun? We'll have to find shade before morning, or I can fashion something from my shirt." As a seamstress she can at least make something utilitarian, if not fashionable. Whatever it takes to keep Wessex safe. A little sunburn won't bother her if that's what it comes to.
