Something familiar caught her eye, however.
She watched the matriarch step outside and pull her hood up. Wessex. Tilting her head slightly, the dark-haired woman kept her attention on the Wraith. She shifted her shoulders, her own black cloak holding her tight and protecting her from the sun of the land, even as it hung low on the horizon. The newly ascended woman did not let her eyes leave Wessex. Her feet followed the woman, interested in where she was going and what she was doing. Her brow furrowed as she followed, holding her bag tight with it full of her homely treasures. Unable to keep total pace with the once-queen in the near-dusk, she fell behind in the bustle of people trying to close shop for the evening. Setting her jaw, she still pressed on.
She watched as Wessex made her way into a building that Letha guessed was not her own, because of the way she moved, she crept her way across the street before trying to hail the woman, silently. Wessex, she called out mentally, hoping the communication would work. The Wraith had spoken to her without words, and Letha was not sure if it would work, but trying seemed logical to her.
