11-13-2017, 05:08 PM
hard liquor mixed with a little bit of intellect
 | Wound hadn’t realized creating a new life was so easy. She’d been taught that the world was a cruel place from the very beginning of her life, that it was only full of hatred and destruction. She’d kept her walls about her as she entered the field, and yet this woman had extended her hand before they had even exchanged names. Their walk does not take long. Wound never was much of a talker in any situation, preferring to keep her thoughts to herself. She had that tendency, even in the presence of her siblings, to close herself off into a private corner of her mind. The words she might vocalize were often spoken depending on the situation, not so much as how she felt personally. However, she keeps to herself as they walk. Her head is still raised high, sure that the fanged mare would twist around every so often and inspect her limping gait as she followed. The air grows several degrees warmer over the course of their trip, and soon Wound can see a looming mountain in the near distance. Her curiosity piques as they continue to near it. “I never did get your name,” she says finally. Her coffee eyes find the golden woman’s face. “I’m Wound.” She figures she should probably know the name of her recruiter before she goes galavanting through the lands. |
@[Femur]