Lost Creek Hollow and drew warmth of blood from bone

wrap up?

Her eyes close. She does not know the words the portent speaks but she does not need to, pressed cheek-to-cheek. This moment of shared space, of intimacy, is an oath that she does not intend to break. It remains to be seen if Wardruna will follow through but she is patient. She can wait. She shivers roughly, the chill in her legs incessant, but what is a baptism without a little bit of sacrifice?

After a moment the priestess withdraws, eyes fluttering open as she regards Sif and Wardruna again, viewing them through this new lens of solemn vow. "Where shall I wait?" She asks, for she is sharp enough to pick up the scent of others on his pelt. If he is with pack now she will linger outside of their boundaries, for she is unwilling to pledge loyalty to anyone else right now. Sif lacks the same collection of scent that the portent carries, so perhaps she will stick by her. But she will wait wherever he tells her to. She is patient.