when water is as thick as blood

WESSEX out of the night that covers me How could they even begin to explain their relationships? It could never be as it once was, de facto babysitter and child, turned neighbor, wanderer, devotee. They stand on two separate precipices; a tentative, reinforced but worn bridge separating them, each wooden slat a choice that took them further from each other. Wessex never expected to care about Amalia, and she’s almost positive the girl never expected to actually like an Ascendant. But here they are. And even Jyoti can feel the apprehension and tension in the air. It could go so many ways. She scooches around to give Amalia more of her attention, knife still busy on the wet stone, carefully scraping away good pieces of lichen and then shaking natural debris from its spongey lengths. She smiles, pausing to look up at the whale. Extending a hand, but fully prepared for the calf to refuse to come close, Wessex says with genuine awe, “Jyoti. She’s beautiful…” Eventually, she withdraws her hand, whether or not her offer is accepted, and she turns her attention to Amalia. Another eyebrow raise. “So. You were captured by the Fae? And.. then they let you go?" Her lips purse together a little, brow knitting with the last question. "And you flew?” Because last time she checked, Amalia wasn’t an Attuned. Or Abandoned. But then, they have almost been avoiding each other. Because if they met, it would mean that after the niceties there would have to be words about what happened at the Spire. About The Old Gods and the New. And where they stand - where they will have to stand, when it all comes down around their heads again. black as the pit from pole to pole i thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul