Bearclaw Valley we can fall in love, it just ain't that easy

The call was made for @Poet, but Blondine didn't think that she would have cared who answered. It was a stale business, being alone; excitement was needed for survival, lest one die of boredom. In wondering what she could do to entertain herself, Blondine remembered the date that she'd set with Poet and wondered if the priestess would be interested in following through. 

The weather was beginning to break, albeit slowly. Now was as good a time as any to search around the territory for more herbs to add to the dwindling cache, though Blondine hoped she wouldn't have to do it alone.

eep! i missed this! sorry!

Blondine's call is an unexpected and welcome surprise, rousing Poet from her place in her den. Her anxiety over socializing with the rest of the pack has faded a bit since the moose hunt; although still largely uninvolved (and unaware) of the various relationships the others have woven, she finds she feels increasingly comfortable. Her decision to open up to Wardruna has surely helped some as well. Bit by bit she is reconstructing herself, and learning that said reconstruction is not an absolute.

She finds Blondine easily enough, greeting her with a friendly chuff. "What is up?" the ex-priestess asks, voice curious as she tilts her head slightly. Whatever it is, Poet assumes she'll be willing to go along with it, but their pre-planned herb-date has not come to mind yet.

The little lady approached with a friendly bounce to her step which made Blondine all the more excited to spend their time together. It was fun having another caregiver around; it gave the two of them something to talk about and bond over, which Blondine was all about. Hey, sweetpea, she cooed, moving a step forward to nudge Poet's shoulder, Mind foraging with me? It's more fun with two. 

Indra would have been Blondine's first choice, but because she didn't think that she shared the same interest or aptitude (and because she was afraid of smothering her), Poet was the next best thing. Besides, getting away from the drama-filled lives of the pack's center would do them both some good.

Blondine's greeting fills her with a warmth even as she tilts her head slightly. Sweetpea? But the other woman is naturally charismatic and affable in a way she isn't, and her invitation wrings a smile onto her mouth. "Yes, of course," she agrees, recalling now their previous 'play date' agreement, and glad Blondine remembered still. 

"It's a shame it hasn't warmed up yet," Poet comments as she comes to stand closer to the caretaker, observing the snow still on the ground. Winter has felt unusually long and chilled this year. She looks forward to its end, still thinking wistfully of hyacinth to gather. Touching her nose briefly to Blondine's shoulder, she adds, "but how have you been?" hoping to catch up some with her as they walk.

Spring was there, but for whatever reason, it seemed to be shyer than normal. Hell, she thought, if I had to show up around here, I'd be nervous, too. Blondine nodded along to Poet's words with a sweet laugh, I'm sure it will soon. Good things come to those who wait. How long were they going to have to be patient, though? Of all of the fruits of the spirit, patience wasn't her most abundant.

There were a few things on her mind, but all in all, Blondine was, Doing just fine, thank you. And yourself? Walks like these were something that she'd missed, being away from home. Back on Abernathy Hill, everyone loved taking walks with ol' Blondine, but the same sentiment didn't seem to reside in the valley.

Blondine's company earns a smile, nodding in agreement to her sentiment. Poet does not consider herself particularly virtuous, but as far as virtures accrued, patience is certainly one of her strongest suits. She's content just like this, walking alongside the other woman, and it occurs to her that despite her hang-wringing over her self-percieved inability to fit in, she's doing just fine. 

"I've been well," she agrees, then adds a touch sheepishly, "better than I have been now that I've.. gotten over myself, as it were." Her tail swishes briefly against her hocks as she scans the ground ahead of them, looking for any fresh greenery poking through the lingering snow.

There was a bit of confusion around what Poet meant, but Blondine didn't think of it as worth mentioning. All that mattered was that they were both in good spirits; enthusiasm was important when it came to getting the job done. You see anything yet? she asked. It was becoming easier for her to track things based on scent alone, but it still wasn't quite as reliable as her sight had been.

I've got something on my mind, if I'd be allowed to share it with you. It was completely against her being to place unwanted burdens onto someone else's shoulders, so Blondine wanted to make sure that she had Poet's consent before blabbering on about her love life (or lack thereof).

Poet hums softly as she combs the ground, shaking her head at Blondine's question. The earth is still cold and hard, though there are places they can look still. At Blondine's second question, she raises her head, the hesitance in the other's tone deserving of her full attention. "Of course," the ex-priestess answers mildly, "you can share anything with me." For the moment she leaves the ground aside, her gaze curious as it finds her friend's face.

Something about the Valley made it impossible for Blondine to keep up her tough facade. This whole "I'm-being-vulnerable" thing didn't thrill her by any means, but she didn't know how to stop it! Ah, at least she was in the company of good people; if Blondine had to be open with anyone, she wanted it to be with the likes of Poet. I've got some...feelings, she began, ears folding back against her skull with immediate embarassment, and I was fixin' to tell her the last time I saw her, but I don't know how.

I don't even know why I've got 'em in the first place! Of course, she's lovely, and just as pretty as a peach, but we're both women and that's weird, right? If I do recall, my Pa often told me that it was unnatural and I reckon he was right. But there's just something about her, Po. You oughta have some advice for me, else I've just rambled on for no good reason and that just won't do.

Of course Blondine had known how much she'd been saying, but even that didn't feel like enough. It was just, something about Indra had caught her eye (pun intended), and she still couldn't put her finger (claw?) on it. That girl was going to be the death of her, Blondine decided, but she wouldn't be giving up without a fight.

It feels as if her shift in focus within herself has allowed her to open a door to others, that they may sense her energy and bring her thoughts to her. Which is, admittedly, a tad vain on her part. But listening to others, and listening well; her strength lives here. 

Blondine's concerns confuse her at first. Feelings can be difficult, sure, but nothing so stressful as... ah. Poet's never thought too deeply about same gender attraction. She grew up surrounded by beautiful women. She's loved men and women in her time equally, unbothered by such pretensions: after all, she is not looking to bear children just yet. The ex-priestess hums, nodding along as she thinks of how to phrase her answer. 

At length she answers, "I've never considered it strange," her voice honest. "Where I am from, it is just as common for two women to love, or to lay with each other, as it is for a man and woman. Or two men," she adds thoughtfully, though she's not personally met such a man before. "But if you have feelings for her, and you want to explore them, you should tell her, Blondine. That's the only way to make any progress with her, or you'll be pining from the sides for a long time." (Something she is intimately familiar with, alas.)

It was the answer that she had both anticipated and dreaded. Okay, so she wasn't weird and this wasn't unusual, and that was good! That part, at least, was music to her ears. Blondine was immediately relieved upon hearing that another woman had felt the same thing; even if she wasn't a woman of the Lord, as Blondine had learned to call him, she had her own gods.

Something that her aunts would tell her as a child (you see, they had married into the family, so they were considerably more liberal) was that no matter what you called it, God was God, and a love for God was more important than a love for your religion.

All of that aside, the latter half of Poet's response was alarming, to say the least. Tell her? How could she ever? What if Indra didn't feel the same way? What if this ruined everything? No, telling her just wouldn't do. Oh, Po, Blondine breathed, I don't know if I can. I wouldn't even know how!

She smiles at her friend's bashful response, charmed by the woman as ever. "I'll admit, my own experiences in this arena are... unusual," Poet begins, "but I believe you could begin with 'I like you and I want to spend more time with you.' You certainly don't have to jump right into courtship if you aren't comfortable with that." Or you could be like her and go "sure thing" to the first anchor that catches your eye.

But that's neither here nor there.

Wrap up?

The answer wasn't as comprehesive and to the point as Blondine needed, but she thought that it might have been for the better. Being given a loose template was easier to appreciate than being handed a full, twelve-step plan. And besides, Poet wasn't anyone's therapist; she didn't owe Blondine nary a thing, so the young Abernathy ought to have been thankful for recieving anything at all. But by the grace of God, go I there, she sighed with a smile, cocking her head back to face Poet. 

I believe we still have some foraging to do, Ms. Po.

Blondine's statement earns a slightly quizzical smile from the ex-priestess, unfamiliar as she is with Blondine's God. But the idea is clear enough, she supposes, and she peacefully allows the conversation to come to a rest. "Indeed," she agrees instead, and returns her attentions to the fragile buds of spring, in search of useful fare.