Lost Creek Hollow and drew warmth of blood from bone

She observes the pair's interaction in silence, understanding, perhaps, why Sif had asked the question she did. But she does not quite know what to make of it, especially once he lays out his offer. Other women implies more beyond the clay-furred woman at his side. She could laugh at the irony, trading one group of women following a figurehead for another, in completely different contexts.

But the idea does not bother her, no. She draws her tongue against her lips, feels the ache of cold in her bone, still fresh. "What will you require of me?" The sinner asks at length, with the intonation of one asking what tomorrow's weather will be like. Her body, her mind, her loyalty; she's no soul left to give, but somehow she doubts he is looking to amass a parish. Whatever his terms, she will take them.