A piece of fruit falls down from on high and Wessex watches it plummet - but doesn’t anticipate the massive splattering it does all over her and her fake person. Pulp flies through the gaps in the leaves, landing on the General in a sticky mess, causing her to lose her concentration on the shadow-person. It falls flat, dissolving into a puddle of a cloak, bespeckled with more wet, goopy spots.
Her eyes fly up - to the whinny in the trees above her and all she can think is that even out here, in the Wilds, fuck no, normal horses don’t climb trees. From her hiding spot, her eyes flash, angry at being taken for a fool (even if she wasn’t, that’s what it feels like).
So what does the Wraith do? What she does best: disappearing. Somewhere. Likely nearby, but she thinks the Attuned won’t be able to hear her over their laughter. Maybe above. Maybe below. Maybe just on the other side of the tree trunk.
Her eyes fly up - to the whinny in the trees above her and all she can think is that even out here, in the Wilds, fuck no, normal horses don’t climb trees. From her hiding spot, her eyes flash, angry at being taken for a fool (even if she wasn’t, that’s what it feels like).
So what does the Wraith do? What she does best: disappearing. Somewhere. Likely nearby, but she thinks the Attuned won’t be able to hear her over their laughter. Maybe above. Maybe below. Maybe just on the other side of the tree trunk.
The Wraith
the bright
the thing in the night
the bright
the thing in the night
Wessex
