when water is as thick as blood

WESSEX out of the night that covers me Her short explanations remind Wessex of when she would try not to directly fib by telling just parts of the truth, twisting back and forth and biting her lip. The Ascended looks down with a small smile. There’s the crux of it - their relationship never evolved, never rmoved past adult and child. And that doesn’t work right now, because they are adult and adult. Equals. Still stone and water, yes, still see the world differently. Amalia will never walk the vicious path that Wessex had, for all she thinks her thoughts to be cruel; more importantly, Wessex would never want her to lose the kindness and compassion that makes the young baker the darling of Caido. They all play their necessary roles. But they don’t have to follow the old rules. Having peeled a third and fouth piece off the rocks, Wessex stashes the bag and knife and plants her butt on the damp surface. “Lanoch is making me a couple of pieces, and he asked for the red lichen in return.” Her own mostly-truth. Sitting cross-legged, all she wants to do is for time to rewind (back when their families were alive, when their thoughts were only of tomorrow, and not what’s beyond the barrier), for the little girl to crawl into her lap and for Wessex to drill her on herb uses. Instead, she pats the ground. “Sit with me?” She waits for the girl to comply, because Wessex knows she will. If nothing else, the woman is absolutely no threat to Ama, and there is enough between them for that small offer of respect. “Let’s talk like adults. You’ve never known me as anything other than a babysitter and pseudo-mother, and therefore never a real person. I never told you why I chose to Ascend, did I?” The question is implied. She can stay and listen, or she can retreat behind her line in the sand. The choice is hers, for this is Wessex’s giant, bigger-than-the-two-of-them olive branch black as the pit from pole to pole i thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul