sailing from another world

If there are faults it’s by design, this marble is an imperfect mask made to hide the perfections unachievable by man. Or so The Voice would say to her bright one. Something that Are could be, too, if he were brave enough to step away from his cobbling bench. She laughs, too. An unexpected burst of surprise at how the man describes his reaction. Cross. Like a mother with unruly children, or a teacher, or even Wessex herself when dealing with most of Caido’s population. And in that moment, she decides to ease up on Are a bit, having decided that he is nothing if not slightly entertaining right now. A nod accompanies his description as her eyes travel the woods around them, having a distinct feeling that they wouldn’t see any Fae until they wanted to be seen. “I imagine they’re all over the Greatwood,” she adds, making no move to be quieter than before. Let them hear her. “Watching us. It would be stupid to assume otherwise.” Especially if one already tried to put an arrow into the large, but relatively harmless cobbler. She can see where one might take him for a threat, however, given the axe he carries and the way he might loom over someone. But Wessex knows how hard he falls, and how much force it takes to send him to the ground. WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm