fears, shmears

She shrugs, physically saying, I didn’t intend for it to be, but fuck it, I guess it is now. It’s fine. She probably would have done something foolhardy and these two will keep her in check. Fate is obnoxiously funny that way. Emphasis on the obnoxious. While the girl is busy thinking, Wessex clocks Ronin’s question, turning back to look at the hilt of the blade as it rises a little above her shoulder. “I won it,” she says calmly. And it’s true, isn’t it? To Roana, the Natural stole it, and to Wessex, she won a battle of bluffs and wills, a test of speed and confidence. The Outlander could have called her bluff - what, did she really think Wessex was going to kill children over a sword? - chosen to believe that though might makes right here, they are not utter barbarians. Ronin can fill in the details with his own imagination, or ask more. But Wessex won’t volunteer answers. Not to him. Anyway.They dive right in, and while her question wasn’t a test, per se, it is used to assess Melita’s instincts, which… aren’t terrible, but aren’t great either. The warrior woman shakes her head a bit, but it is not unkindly, nor does she look displeased. “For this kind of thing, we’ll put you in the middle. Experienced members on the ends to protect against either rear or frontal attacks.” She pauses, looking between the two Outlanders. “And though your instinct is right about putting a native first, you couldn’t have known that I really dislike this bridge and never cross it. So, Ronin, if you’ve been here before, you can take lead if you want. If not, I’ll suck it up and grow a pair.” He got sucked into this by virtue of proximity, it’s his decision, not hers. Should he agree, she’ll line up behind the two of them and follow accordingly - claymore at the ready. WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm

Melita