sif's words roll around in her like a treasure hidden in a forgotten bottom drawer. should she be more frightened, she wonders, of govinda's apparent deeds? but to do so would be to ignore her own particular histories, things sif does not know, things that make her a bad wolf indeed. if anything hamartia feels more tightly bound to the golden would-be killer, for she holds his old name and his sins neatly under her tongue. 

what she's going to do about that, she hasn't decided.

govinda had been right about the groves. the palms, anachronistic as they are, play deceptive tricks, fooling her into feeling removed from the rest of the teekons and the steps she's walked before. she does not think she will allow sif to cross her path again; as much as she values her old sister-wife, sif belonged to poet, a creature she is not. the thought fills her with mourning, and it is in that vulnerable state govinda comes upon her. quickly she pulls her sorrows back to herself, turning canny yellow eyes on him with a lazy smile, an easy question. "need something?"

rather feline she stretches, flexing her toes. despite the chill the sun is pleasant, perhaps another affect of the unusual foliage, and she is in no rush to move to greet him more properly. "oh?" hamartia hums, her voice taking on a teasing hint, "do i linger in your thoughts?"

maybe it's unfair to play with him, even if it comes from genuine connection. connections, nonetheless, govinda himself is unaware of. she won't tell him today, she thinks. "i am here," she says, the resolution making her voice warmer. carrying someone's secret history does not need to be tragic, she thinks. "and it is nice here. what of yourself?"

a warm smile creases her mouth. strangely it is nice to know that her company, in part, has brought him some solace, some lingering desire from her previous days. and, well, if she must admit it, she rather likes govinda. not just for the weariness he carries, so alike to hers, but his caution in handling her. perhaps she likes being handled rather than handling those around her.

his question, though, is more loaded than he knows. hamartia takes a moment, running her tongue flat against her lips. "i went up the coast," she says, truthfully, "thinking.. i don't know. curious to see if my old footsteps lingered, perhaps." sighing, the woman lifts her shoulders in an elegant shrug, as if to say foolish of me, i know. she does not want to tell him about moorhen, does not want to give away the game yet. instead she says, voice firm, "i'd much prefer to look to the present and future than the past now, i think. don't you agree?"