Oh, the newcomer had done a good job of spreading the word. He’d done such a good job that whispers had trickled down to Wessex’s sensitive ears. She intends to join them more out of a sense of protection than piqued interest (and the knowledge that one should know their enemy… friend… invaders… whatever), believing that she’ll be ‘safe’ as long as she isn’t foolish.
For all she knows, this is a fool's errand.
Stealing quietly through the darkness, nimbly crossing the rock-strewn land and ruined foundations on leathery soles, she is a light shadow amongst the darker ones. Practice takes her in a winding path until she comes to the place the Outlanders have seemed to claim as their own. It’s a useless building to the Naturals, but for those who don’t expect the unexpected, she can understand that it might be important while adjusting. Of course, she also thinks they seem abnormally weak, unprepared, and have no fucking clue how hard life can be here. Wessex privately made a bet with herself - giving them a year, tops, before they’re all just bones in the earth.
Huh. There’s no guard.
My, my they are a trusting bunch, aren’t they?
Doing her best to stay beyond the low, golden glow of the candles, Wessex skulks around the edges of the building, quickly slipping (damn, this speed is good for something!) in an ajar side door to count the bodies - eleven of them - before melting back into the shadows to listen as best she can and assess those assembled. A hand lies on her hunting knife, just in case. This is reconnaissance, not a challenge. As much as she loves to fight, she knows she can’t take all of them and leave unscathed.
{I hope this is ok!}
For all she knows, this is a fool's errand.
Stealing quietly through the darkness, nimbly crossing the rock-strewn land and ruined foundations on leathery soles, she is a light shadow amongst the darker ones. Practice takes her in a winding path until she comes to the place the Outlanders have seemed to claim as their own. It’s a useless building to the Naturals, but for those who don’t expect the unexpected, she can understand that it might be important while adjusting. Of course, she also thinks they seem abnormally weak, unprepared, and have no fucking clue how hard life can be here. Wessex privately made a bet with herself - giving them a year, tops, before they’re all just bones in the earth.
Huh. There’s no guard.
My, my they are a trusting bunch, aren’t they?
Doing her best to stay beyond the low, golden glow of the candles, Wessex skulks around the edges of the building, quickly slipping (damn, this speed is good for something!) in an ajar side door to count the bodies - eleven of them - before melting back into the shadows to listen as best she can and assess those assembled. A hand lies on her hunting knife, just in case. This is reconnaissance, not a challenge. As much as she loves to fight, she knows she can’t take all of them and leave unscathed.
