Bearclaw Valley don't deny what you feel, open up your mind

@Poet is welcome, too!

Things looked promising. Blondine had been able to do a decent job of plucking and pruning the lavender and rose patch she'd found. They were the only two plants that seemed eager to reveal themselves this season, but she had hope for the spring; new herbs would sprout everywhere and her cache would prosper. For now, though, she would just have to make do. 

As she wandered around the territory with her mouth full of stems and her eyes on the lookout for @Indra, Blondine thought about the days when this might have been nothing more than a lesson. She would've gotten up early to collect the fresh clippings before the morning dew was gone from their leaves, then report back to her aunt for praise and further instructions. It was a game then, but now it was real.

dont mind if i do B)

 Her foray to the forest northward was largely unsuccessful, beyond a smattering more of lavender and a few scraggly bulbs of wild garlic. The lavender she divvies, storing half to freshen her altar with and taking the other half up in her mouth to bring to the injured girl. Lavender is hardly a cure, but it will take the edge off if nothing else. (She feels a touch of guilt that she has not dropped by to check on the girl after assisting in transporting her post-trauma.)

 It is not Indra who she finds but another, a small red woman also carrying a mouthful of lavender. Intrigued, she lays her collection down and calls out in friendly tones: "are you a medic, perhaps, or merely an enthusiast?"

Blondine's ears swiveled to catch the melodic voice that'd called out to her. Not too far off stood an unfamiliar woman with a similar bounty to her own; she assumed that this was the Poet who Phocion had mentioned before. Something in between, Blondine called back with a laugh after dropping her own bundle. 

There wasn't anyone around who she could see stealing from her, so she felt confident enough to leave the lavender behind while she got a closer look at the other she-wolf. You're Poet, right? I'm Blondine, Blondine Abernathy. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Her answer steals a smile from Poet's tired mouth. Something in between, something she can relate to. That the woman already knows her name is unexpected but she plays it off with a raised eyebrow. "I am," the ex-Priestess agrees, "it is a pleasure to meet you too, Blondine."

Gracefully she takes a seat, her lavender tucked securely under paw. "Where might you have learned my name?" She asks, voice mild. They are pack mates and so it is not unreasonable that Blondine might have heard it somewhere, but nonetheless names can be powerful things. Or hers, at least, when rendered in full, though that is to remained guarded now that she has her sense about her.

After hearing her voice, Blondine concluded that she would quite like this Poet, given enough time. It was melodic and smooth with an accent that sounded regal; it might have been insulting had Blondine been vain enough to let something so simple get under her skin. Phocion mentioned it. It's very nice, flows from the mouth.

In the moments following, Blondine enjoyed sitting in silence and examining Poet's face; she found her to be quite attractive. Had she been born in another life under another name, she might have tried her hand, but that wasn't the path God had set her upon. You gotta place to keep these? Blondine asked, nodding back toward her own herb pile, Mine isn't set up just yet and I'd hate to see them all go to waste.

"It is designed to be so," Poet confides, expression softened by mention of the other priest. She finds she likes Phocion well enough, even if he is still chained to his own beliefs in a way she will not be any longer. A beat passes between them, silent in a companionable way. Blondine isn't so bad either, she decides.

"Truthfully, I have been more interested in collecting for a small altar I started rather than storing for medicinal or personal use." She admits with a slight frown. Theoretically they could use the space housing the altar for storage, but it is out of the way and beyond the claim of the Valley. Poet already resigned herself to the notion that a stranger may come along and destroy her hard work, but that risk seems meaningful. Not useful for this. "Perhaps we could set up a place together?" She suggests instead, figuring a small communual herb cache is as good a starting place as any (and truthfully, Blondine will probably get much more use out of it than she.)

Poet was one of them, too? Blondine wondered if she and Phocion were members of the same sect, but didn't want to seem rude by asking, so she let the comment go by with a nod. I'd like that, she agreed before rushing back to retrieve her pile of herbs. With a full mouth, she asked, Where d'ya wanna go? and waited for Poet to lead the way.

Blondine seems warm to the idea, or at least accepting of it. She looks to Poet as if to lead their excursion, so the petite woman rises to her paws once more. "Perhaps near the dens," she suggestions, "or the cache -- we can create a division for our supplies. That way the others can grab things for us in a pinch as well." 

She gathers her lavender between her jaws, assuming Blondine will find that agreeable, and sets off at a leisurely place towards the cache. If the russet woman wishes to redirect her, so be it, but if that is not the case it should not take too long to set up their shared stores once they arrive.

Blondine nodded her head firmly with an assuring huff, mimicking Poet soon after. She followed dutifully after the greyscale femme, being careful to remember exactly where they were headed. Once they'd arrived, Blondine spent little time dilly-dallying and got right to work digging out the base of their space. You're a good thinker, she complimented through heavy breaths, I'd'a spent hours digging out an entirely seperate cache, had we not crossed paths.

They set to the task, a soothing sort of repetition. Her mind does not wander while she digs. It is more like a meditation, these active projects of her, a way to soothe her tempetuous blood. She finds she does not mind the company either: it reminds her of the temple and her shared daily rites with the other priestesses. Fitting. 

Blondine's voice breaks across her empty thoughts and she looks up, eyes sliding from unfocused to a dreamy presence. "Thank you," she says, inclining her head. "I'm glad we'll both be able to benefit," she adds with a soft laugh, smoothing the sides of the shallow base with delicate pats of her paw. "I think this is a good start. We can expand if needed later, perhaps?"

Blondine exhaled and looked at their modest collection with a proud gaze. After nodding to Poet, she got the feeling that the two of them were getting ready to part ways, but she'd had her mind spent on spending a bit more time with the strange woman. Well, she began with a breathy sort of worry and splayed ears, what're you doing now? Maybe we can hang out, talk, do some hunting... Anything to keep the two of them busy would have worked. Despite having been in Bearclaw Valley since its official founding, Blondine hadn't been able to make too many friends; that loneliness was beginning to take a toll.

Assuming their time together is drawing to a close, Poet goes to pick up her bundle of lavender, only to be stopped by Blondine's question. "Oh," she says, pausing, "I was going to visit my altar." Well, but: now there is a safe place to store her herbs, and in truth, there is not much she can do until spring when the hyancith is in bloom again. Hm. She abandons the lavender once more and turns fully toward Blondine, wearing a small smile. "But I can do that another time. Is there something you'd like to do?"

Blondine nodded her head with a smile. Nothing in specific, she replied with a wag of her tail, Just like making friends, is all. But not wanting to be a bother, Blondine decided that she ought to make the first move to exit. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after that, even, we can find something to do, alright? With that came a wink and a slow turn to head back toward her den.

Her smile widens, surprised by the declaration. Friends, yes, that is what Poet seeks too. Or, well, companionship, which is a form of friendship, perhaps. Has she ever really had a friend prior to Sif? Does Sif count as a friend, being her sister-wife? She suspects her feelings for the Northerner are rooted less in platonic affection than in a protective instinct, though whether familiar, romantic, or vestiges of her previous duty are hard to say.

But, friends! "Of course," she agrees readily with a slight wag of her tail. "I'll look forward to our meeting again." Poet does not know how to discern the meaning of Blondine's wink, but she smiles and waits for the other to head out before regathering her bundle and making her way back to the altar for one final visit until the spring months arrive.