WESSEX
She wouldn’t necessarily call it guilt, but there is some lingering feeling of, oh, disappointment in herself for letting Melita hear her condemnation of the Outlander assault team. If only because she doesn’t hate all the Outlanders, just the majority of them. Some are palatable, and a select few are even ok to be around. Lucas. Melita. Deimos. Aedion was fine, but he was gone. Rexanna is… fine. Edy is in a category all her own. Everyone else can fuck off. Her philosophy on her own kind is much the same, but she’s less likely to admit it, because even Wessex needs allies. Anyway. Despite her warnings that they would have to train at night, which might be harder on the girl than she’s used to do, Melita persisted, and so Wessex acquiesces with a smile on her face. They’ll start with something that can only bump and bruise, until she can get a feeling for the spitfire’s abilities and technical know-how. To be honest, Wessex’s forte isn’t in staffs, so this will be an exciting exercise for her too.
Hauling a set of torches out with her, the older woman sets out their stage, lighting the oil-dipped tips in order to give Melita enough light to see by. She’s got a fancy new, polished, hardwood staff laying in the grass on the side. And as Wessex waits, she begins to clear the area of anything that may trip them up: dangerous terrain lessons come later, the first one ain’t worth a twisted ankle.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
