WESSEX
The strangely beautiful, peculiarly eerie melody that wafts across the dark stretches of the night and into Wessex’s ears are irresistible. She wastes no time in grabbing her bow and arrows and leaving her little cabin in order to find its source. Across the barrier-mark she goes, quickly - quietly - keen ears initially honing in until little balls of fire seem to lead the way. Great. Fire. A dangerous element for her to be around, but then she played it safe in the last big thing so she can’t really do it again, now can she? They lead her to the river and while there are others gathered, Wessex only has eyes for the woman on top of the water and her fire-art, the beautiful deadliness of her form and the skill with which she wields the flames. Muscles tense as she comes to the bank of the river, staying on the edge of the banks, though the water is ever so near.
Ok. What now?
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
