Satisfied that she’s now evened the score, Wessex allows herself a brief, bemused chuckle as well, hauling herself around the trunk by sheer strength until she’s somewhere where she can easily face the shifted Attuned. Something inside her says she ought to be more sheepish, more - something - than what she’s feeling now, given her last encounter with the Flood and what she’s about to ask of him.
Because of course, fate has a way of handing her things she needs. Eventually.
But she doesn’t feel guilty or sheepish, she just feels - relieved, perhaps? - that he engaged with her in a normal way. “Hey Jata,” she offers him simply. Normally. Maybe wearily? “Took me a moment to realize it was you.” An awkward pat on his flank tries to convey that she is no longer ready to claw his face off and then hurl stinging accusations at his raw flesh.
Not because she think he’s making good decisions. But because she recognizes the need to not burn this bridge. It’s a common motivation for her actions: keep the fires to a minimum if at all possible.
Because of course, fate has a way of handing her things she needs. Eventually.
But she doesn’t feel guilty or sheepish, she just feels - relieved, perhaps? - that he engaged with her in a normal way. “Hey Jata,” she offers him simply. Normally. Maybe wearily? “Took me a moment to realize it was you.” An awkward pat on his flank tries to convey that she is no longer ready to claw his face off and then hurl stinging accusations at his raw flesh.
Not because she think he’s making good decisions. But because she recognizes the need to not burn this bridge. It’s a common motivation for her actions: keep the fires to a minimum if at all possible.
The Wraith
the bright
the thing in the night
the bright
the thing in the night
Wessex
