It’s true, if Wessex had wanted to kill Melita, she would have done so, with an arrow or otherwise. But the little firebrand has weaseled her way into the stoic woman’s ‘more good than bad’ list, so really it’s more that she could have lost someone she’s ever so slightly fond of that makes her growl. There is no and how do you think I would feel if you had, following the girl’s cheeky comment, because the older woman recognizes the irony in the statement before she says it. Which is not to say that Melita cared about Wessex and her death… only that it would be borderline hypocritical (and disgustingly maudlin), and she takes such great care to not be a hypocrite.
While Melita rustles in her rucksack for something, Wessex takes stock of their situation. It’s likely that anything they might have seen has fucked off now, thanks to their little exchange. She listens. Nothing. She smells. Nothing except the two of them and the all-encompassing blanket of snow and ice. Welp. Time to call it.
Is this yours? floats up to her, and the Ascended’s attention is drawn back to the Outlander, who is holding her arrow with a smirk on her face. “Yep,” she answer briskly, taking the shaft from her outstretched hand. “Hate to waste one of these.” And without further comment, she reaches around to tuck it back into its quiver. Two can play the innocent game, and in entirely different ways.
One day she’ll ask the girl about her past, and then she can spill her guts about how brave and strong she is and the violence she’s seen, the blood on her tiny hands. But until then - until the girl speaks up for herself, Wessex will continue to take her at face value.
“Let’s call it a night,” she says with a jerk of her head towards the settlement. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”
WESSEX
She whispered back, I am the storm
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