[ME] (SE) like rats out of a sinking ship

Still sad, still coveting the comfort her companion can give, Wessex hears Amalia but speaks to the dragon - for there is safety in her heart-bonded and what is between the two Grounders is not safe. The Wraith lifts a forearm to her ear, listening intently, brow furrowed for a good long minute before she shakes her head. “No, Eirachi is quiet,” she says, quite childlike in her despair and disappointment. Like a kid who’s been sick for far too long, it’s wearing on her resolve - this relentless, relentless tapping at her body as her systems identify the wrongness and then promptly forget. “The metal…” she begins, scrunching her face up as she tries to remember. “Is new. Like me and Osozo and Azrael. It will help.” Of this, she is quite sure. “But I don’t know what it is and Loren -” Now the Wraith half-growls, half-cries, so frustrated is she in her failure. “Hides it so I can’t see.” Turning to Amalia, eyes wide and honest and lost, the Queen tries so. hard To articulate her thoughts, taking her time to find the right words. “Ama, my eyes can see more. They could help, cause… we need a new cure for new people. Water is old. Old old old. Only new ways for new people, you see? The metal? Not water.” WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here