we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
With an eye to the tub of water they’re leaving behind, Wessex follow Jata, but is half-convinced that they’ll come back to find it completely empty. Water seems like a commodity here, so she makes eye contact with someone nearby and tries to convey via furtive gestures that there will be hell to pay if she returns and it’s gone.
The Wraith pulls up to wander alongside the Flood and she, too, notices the dead plants. Unable to tell if they’re the same plants that Ghilio was trying to make, she just hums thoughtfully and presses her lips together until her fellow demigod tries to revive them. As the water flows out of him and towards the desiccated greenery, she huhs quietly to herself. “That’s useful. What kind of Frey things are coming your way, if you don’t mind me asking?”
In her mind, they’ve always been the herald(s) with simultaneously the most variety and the most useless powers. She is, however, aware of her biases and is open to changing her mind, given the shit the two of them have been through lately.
The Wraith pulls up to wander alongside the Flood and she, too, notices the dead plants. Unable to tell if they’re the same plants that Ghilio was trying to make, she just hums thoughtfully and presses her lips together until her fellow demigod tries to revive them. As the water flows out of him and towards the desiccated greenery, she huhs quietly to herself. “That’s useful. What kind of Frey things are coming your way, if you don’t mind me asking?”
In her mind, they’ve always been the herald(s) with simultaneously the most variety and the most useless powers. She is, however, aware of her biases and is open to changing her mind, given the shit the two of them have been through lately.
WESSEX
