If Bexley was a little more level-headed she might think twice before entering the maze. As she is, though - tenacious and overconfident at the least - she sets off to find it as soon as word reaches her ears, the light, unconfirmed whisperings of people asking, was that there before? Do you think there’s anything inside? As far as she knows, Tempus’ relic was never found, which means this… event probably has something do with that. And even if it doesn’t, and Bexley is simply, once again, leaping to conclusions, she wants to see it. Huge hedges sprung up over night? An entire forest, birthed so newly that the leaves are still bristling-fresh? The mystery of it all is right up her alley.
So here she is, poised just outside the entrance of the labyrinth, enticingly close. If she moved a front leg just a little closer she’d be crossing the border. The temptation is incredible, but Bexley forces herself to peer inside first, just in case; all that stares back at her is a wall of brackish green leaves that fade to shadowed black many feet down, the dirt path unmarred by any footsteps, the sunlight not quite reaching as far as Bexley wants it to go. For a moment she hesitates. There is an undeniable magic around her, and Bexley is no traditional witch child. She’s out of her element. But then again, every moment in Novus has made her feel out of her element, and here she is, precocious, unbruised, and as godly as ever.
Thus she steps onto the path. Her bleached hooves are soundless in the soft dirt, that svelte frame winding easily between the brush. The sun begins to fade away behind her as she moves deeper into the maze, forcing herself to take slow steps, to look around as she moves, to not act rashly, for once: this is important, she can feel it. And Bexley does not mess up.
@Random Events
So here she is, poised just outside the entrance of the labyrinth, enticingly close. If she moved a front leg just a little closer she’d be crossing the border. The temptation is incredible, but Bexley forces herself to peer inside first, just in case; all that stares back at her is a wall of brackish green leaves that fade to shadowed black many feet down, the dirt path unmarred by any footsteps, the sunlight not quite reaching as far as Bexley wants it to go. For a moment she hesitates. There is an undeniable magic around her, and Bexley is no traditional witch child. She’s out of her element. But then again, every moment in Novus has made her feel out of her element, and here she is, precocious, unbruised, and as godly as ever.
Thus she steps onto the path. Her bleached hooves are soundless in the soft dirt, that svelte frame winding easily between the brush. The sun begins to fade away behind her as she moves deeper into the maze, forcing herself to take slow steps, to look around as she moves, to not act rashly, for once: this is important, she can feel it. And Bexley does not mess up.
@Random Events
