WESSEX
It would be incredibly out of character for Wessex to snarl or strike or otherwise try to hurt someone like Melita; that time in the Spire, by the rubble, that had been try and get a blight-raged girl under control so her feet don’t fall off from frostbite. Does she know that? Does the sunshine and spear child know it hadn’t been in offense, but a last-ditch effort of someone who couldn’t use her normal tactics? “Thank you,” she says with a nod of understanding, looking in the indicated direction. When she turns back, it seems like Melita’s about to go. She wants to call out to her, tell her to come back, a sad sort of resolve flashing across her face until she sees the girl pauses and turn back. Staff work? There’s only so much you can learn from a book; diagrams and words can only describe momentum and the feel of the weapon in one’s hands so well. If it’s going to be taught properly, it should be done in person.
Wessex hesitates for a moment, searching for the firebrand’s golden eyes and trying to discern what may or may not be appropriate. “I’m glad you’ve been practicing,” she starts with a soft smile, trying to ease her way into a real conversation. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t around to teach you more.” Her fingers run nervously over whatever book she’s landed on, feeling the indents of the black stamp of its name without registering what the title is. “I could… try to make it up to you?”
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
