She is not surprised by Wardruna's appearance, and although she had not anticipated it, she finds it welcome. She could get used to the way he delivers her name, that tiny fragment of herself she will not let go. "Wardruna," the ex-Priestess returns, her smoky voice muffled by the lavender clutched between her teeth. The brush of muzzle is allowed, a gentle thing, before she lowers the bundle to rest by her feet and pulls back up to nose him properly. "How have you been keeping?" She asks, tone low and silky. She has not seen much of him, in truth, preferring to spend her time on her project. But she supposed she must be careful to not let it consume her; Wardruna and Sif deserve her time just as much.
A part of her regrets her natural distance. She consented to Wardruna's ... advance, is obliged to him for giving her something to hold on to when she had nothing. Yet she has not made much effort to seek him since their arrival to the Valley, nor to become closer with him. Surely the loss of the woman Addie has caused him some pain. Her sudden desire to lower her guard for him, if even a fraction, surprises her.
She will act on it. "Indeed," Poet says, noting the curated flippancy. Perhaps she should have tried to know this Addie better, that she could better understand the hold the woman has on Wardruna's heart. How long had they known each other, even? Was she like Poet, a lost soul in search of a material grip, or had they shared in something more meaningful? "I have been reflecting, lately," the blasphemer responds, accepting his change of topic though not quite ready to let it go entirely. "Do you recall when we met, I told you I'd nothing left?"
Wryly she smiles, not waiting for an answer before she continues. "I am.. rebuilding bridges, in a sense. You gave me something to grasp while I reconstructed myself. It is an ongoing process," she sighs, "but I feel as if I have made headway at last. Thank you, Wardruna." Her voice comes out smoky and shy, almost childish in her honesty. There is room in her heart still, she thinks, spaces she thought she closed up but has learned to carve out yet again. There is room for healing here, with him and Sif and the wolves of the Valley (even if a bitter part of her, a part she tries to repress, wonders if they would forgive her should they ever learn the true nature of her sin.)
i'm so sorry for the wait on this. T-T
the conversation does not linger where he knows it rests: upon addie. he is grateful. there is no sense in exploring what feelings he'd felt stirring for his first wife for that would only dredge upon the inevitable anger and pain that he works to keep at arm's length away. "i remember," wardruna murmurs in response, following along with the flow and change of the conversation seamlessly and without hesitation. poet's been an enigma for some time and though she is a puzzle he has respected her privacy and not attempted to solve her. not because he isn't interested but because he wants her to tell him when she's ready to. and if she's never to that point then ...that's her right. "i'm glad i could help you, poet." wardurna speaks genuinely. it's true that he never intended to be safe harbor or a source of healing for anyone yet ...it's nice to know that it's what he's (potentially) becoming. it shows growth, hope that he can be more than what he was and more than what he is. still, he can't help but think that in a similar way sif and poet are aiding to heal him. of course, there are injuries that will never heal back to what they were before but he feels like he's on the right path even if he has no idea where it'll lead and what it'll hold in store for him and his wives.