Lost Creek Hollow and drew warmth of blood from bone

His considerations are what Poet expected, truly, though children gives her pause. Perhaps it is far to call her a "reformed celibate," and the thought of laying with the man does not bother her (at least in this moment when he represents a glittering gateway to a new sort of freedom). Motherhood is not something that has ever factored into her vision of herself. Some priestesses had beared children, she is sure, but it was rare and not in her original destined path. The children groomed to be priestesses had been given as offerings of a sort, raised communually. 

In a way, Wardruna's vision is a ghost of the world she's come from, a hedonistic mirror of the temple itself. She does not know if she will ever associate herself as a mother even if children are to come from her womb but she can accep the idea of communual raising, of, she supposes, sister-wives. At length she speaks: "very well." Her gaze, more alert, no longer empty, shifts between the clay-furred woman at his side and the portent himsef. "I will join your company," she says, and tentatively moves closer, reaching out to brush her nose against his chin, should he allow, a finalization of their pact.