Sif had been cuddling Poet she saw Xan's wife heading out of the territory. For a few long moments, she simply curled closer to Poet and tried to close her eyes once more. But the memories of their play came back to her, and with a cajoling wuff, she stood and began trying to entire Poet away from their bed.
Whether or not she was successful, the siren-call of her new friend was too much to bear. She began trotting along the wolf's trail, ears pressed intently forward as she searched the other out. Finally, she appeared in the meadow, and with another happy bark, Sif began loping toward her, doing a quick circle around the other and snapping her jaws in the most playful gesture she could make.
Come get me! she pleaded with her body, hoping they could play again.
The disappearance of Addie had not gone unnoticed by the sinner. Poet does not think much about it either way; having never had the chance to know Addie, she did not feel anything toward the quiet woman. If Wardruna is upset... well, there are comforts she can offer. Besides, Poet is much more interested in spending time with Sif, who continues to charm her.
She is roused from a pleasant nap by said girl's wheedling, yawning and murming soft appeasements as she climbs to her feet. What Sif is up to, she doesn't know, unaware of her sister-wife's new friend until they're upon her. "Who's this, then?" the ex-Priestess inquires, watching her playful gestures with a mix of fondness and protectiveness. The other smells like the Valley, like Xan, and so she assumes she is safe enough, but one can never be too sure.
Feel free to skip Sif whenever! I will try to keep up, but I don't want to hold this back.
They were doing it again! The more she tried it, the better Sif felt about the game they were playing. She liked it especially because there was biting involved, and she was very good at that even if she wasn't using her full strength.
"Wife of Xan," she said to Poet, circling back to the older female and daring to nip at the furs of her shoulder. She darted back at once, a little horrified to have done that to Poet, who was starting to feel like The Boss of Sif, but giddy all the same.
"Play with us?" she asked shyly, tail wagging hopefully at the older woman. Only to find that their new friend was leaving!
"Hey!" Sif barked, turning and tearing in the other's direction.
She stopped short when she realized there was
another woman here with them. Briefly, she simply goggled at the woman's pale furs, appreciating her natural beauty - but Xan's wife was heading toward her, and she needed backup! Sif trotted onward, ears pressed forward in attentiveness by tail relaxed against her hocks in deference to the older women around her.
Would she
always be the youngest?
Wife of Xan, Sif explains, and Poet examines the woman again. A strange looking creature who reminds the sinner of the dog she'd met once, but she smells like wolf. But she doesn't have time to dwell as Sif nips at her, asking to play. Surprised, she blinks owlishly; she hasn't played in what feels like centuries, though surely it hasn't been all that long. She isn't that old.
Between Sif and the stranger (who's bow is noted with a curious tilt of the head) she doesn't notice the other until her soft Ahoy breaks upon the scene. Poet looks at the pair, sister-wife and wife-of, and back to the older woman. "Hello," she returns the greeting, knowing Sif struggles with such things, "I am Poet and this my ... companion, Sif." Her gaze moves to Sif's friend, waiting for her to supply a name, unaware of her similar speechless proclivities.
"Hey!" Sif protested, tail wagging, as Xan's wife returned to them. Sif didn't know her name, and had gotten the impression that she said even less than herself. Asking didn't seem to be yielding results, at any rate. Still, she was getting tired of refering to her as "Xan's wife", and they needed to name her in order to lay claim to her. "Venninne," she said to Olive. And then, with a grin and a slavish look directed toward Poet, she added, "All friends!"
Venninne wanted to play, still. Sif was alright with that. She gave Poet a rough, adoring lick to the chin and darted off after her more energetic friend, wondering if Olive would play with them as well. She seemed more like an older, boring type, like Wardruna and Poet, but perhaps she'd prove Sif wrong in that regard.
Sif's strange friend does not reply, and after a moment, Poet puzzles out that she must be like Sif. Perhaps even more so, as her clay-furred companion can speak in fragments, at the least. Sif takes the opportunity to offer a name: Venninne (she wonders if Sif came up with that herself or if the mysterious woman had given it at some point before now).
She watches Sif and Venninne play, a fond smile on her face. "All friends," Poet agrees, and looks back to the sylph. "I believe they'd like us to join them," the blaspheme says, a slightly mischevious tilt to her lips, curious if their fourth will join in.