[SWE] The Festival of Lights

As one, the figures lift a finger to their faces, and Wessex finds the gestures rather… eerie. The movement seems to fall in line with the Natural’s indignation, but even so… There’s a tickling at the back of her neck that makes her wonder first, who the figures are (there’s so many!), second, why Ludo chose the Outlander and his consortium of shades, and third, why they are so threatened by dead spirits. There are things that go bump in the night, things that can kill and carve and decimate - but even in Caido, the dead stay dead. Death comes to all of us... Wessex frowns again, the lines deepening in her stone-wrought face. This isn’t usually how the night goes. And again, her anger rises irrationally towards the Outlanders: they who come, but do not ask, who take, but do not give back. She imagines it is only a matter of time before there is a clash. At least Rory got a present. That’s nice. Wessex glances down at the lantern and offers a small shrug. It’s probably useful for him, and pretty, too. Maybe it will be a consolation prize of sorts to the leatherworker. She looks for his gaze and offers the blonde man a sharp nod and a clap on the shoulder before turning quietly on her heels and dissolving into the darkness, lest anyone say or do something else that might provoke her. Wessex has had enough restraint for one night. Best not to test her any further. WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm