Bearclaw Valley the specular thought brought on oneself:

Poet spends her early morning at her makeshift altar, speaking in hushed tones of things she hasn't in a long time. Her catharsis has been private but no less real and when she leaves she scatters the dried petals of lavender across the dirt, leaving it mussed for her return. In spring she will carry hyancinth and wear blooms and watch the children of Bearclaw Valley grow and she is learning.

She is learning. Back within the borders of the Valley the woman takes some time to check her and Blondine's shared herbal cache. Despite the lingering effects of this everlasting winter, stubborn spring plants are beginning to bloom (she finds it relatable), and the ex-priestess takes the time to check on the few spots she knows, scraping the snow to the side to expose the willful buds to what sunlight there is. If they will actually bloom remains unseen, but Poet is rooting for them.

The day was set to be a productive one. Like Poet, Blondine was determined to go and find more supplies for their meager cache. There were two pregnancies in the Valley, one of them of an injured Reigi; the two healers would need all of the supplies they could get. After stopping off to see @Phocion and tell him about his latest affairs with Indra, she made her way along Poet's trail. 

Any luck? Blondine called as she approached, I'm hoping for anything.

 Though healing of bodies and midwifery is not where her skillset lay, she knows she will most likely be called upon to pitch in come whelping. She does not mind the ask, nor Blondine's sudden presence, a bright spot on an otherwise middling day. "Some," she answers by way of greeting, "lavender as always, some mint. Have you found any raspberry plants?" She worries the season will arrive too late for them this year ... perhaps they ought to cultivate a garden together once the frost finally melts.

Raspberry? Blondine hadn't even thought of that! In fact, in all of her years around those wise older women, no one had even mentioned the use of raspberries in their practice. This striked a new match of curiosity in the young Abernathy; Raspberry? Wha'd'y'all use that for? Sometimes, Blondine would be put into these situations where she was forced to remember holyshitihavenoideawhatimdoing, but she had learned to take them as lessons instead of challenges.

I've found a rose bush. The lavender and rose huddle up in the cold, it's mighty convenient. The patch wasn't far, and they could easily walk away with a nice harvest.

One of the benefits of working at a temple filled with women: "the leaves," she explains, "they offer some relief from pain in childbirth." Whether any will make an appearance before Venninne and Laurel's births remains to be seen, but it is nice to keep an eye out, at the least.

"Rose would be lovely," Poet agrees, offering a small smile as she waits for Blondine to take the lead.

Well, that explained it; Blondine didn't know anymore about childbirth than a fly knew about soap. However, now that she'd learned this gem, she was sure to store it away in her mind where it could be retrieved, should either mother request her assistance. With Poet's go-ahead, Blondine led the party of two for a short walk, before stopping just ahead of the bush. Needs some prunin', she laughed, turning to look back at Poet, but I figure it ought to do the trick.

Immediately, she began to sniff around for the least prickly stems so as to pull them at the root. I fear that there's something I might tell you, Blondine lamented, eyes flickering to meet Po's, I don't believe we know much about each other, particularly myself to you. We never talk aside from when we've got mouths full of herbs. There was a contagious laugh after that statement, but it didn't last longer than a minute.

Tell me about yourself, would ya?

Easily she sets to the shared task, carefully extracting the struggling leaves so that the healthy ones may flourish. It is a companionable task, and Blondine's breaking the silence is not unwelcome: she laughs herself, carefully setting down the dying rose bud she holds between her teeth. "Funny, that," the ex-priestess agrees, "but happily." While talking about herself carries a degree of... vulnerability she is not fully reckoned with yet, at this point Poet trusts Blondine well enough.

"I was born at a temple, taken from my parents and raised among the other priestesses. The head of our temple was Beneath-Night's Breath, a ... channel, so to speak, to our goddess. If the wolf who was Beneath-Night's Breath form had a self other than Breath's..." She cuts herself off. "We tended to her, maintained the temple, provided healing and religious services for travelers."

Here Poet pauses, swallows. Glances at Blondine, a touch nervously. "I... was her head priestess; her adored second hand. Our relationship was... intimate, but fraught. We worshipped her as a God but in the end she was wolf, same as any of us, and... I was young and easily made jealous.

I... hesitate to say the rest," she admits. "It may... affect how you think of me. I am not ... a good person, per se."

The story was captivating enough for Blondine to forget herself in the lazy task of foraging. For a moment, she was immersed in Poet's words, drinking in every part of the intricate explanation. That being said, it is understandable to say that she was incredibly disappointed by the tale's sudden end. Clearing her throat and continuing on with the task of plucking blossoms from their stem, Blondine said, Oh, you don't have to tell me anything you don't wanna, I understand.

Then, with pleading eyes, she looked up at Poet and whispered, But I do pray that you continue on. That's one hell of a cliffhanger, doll.

Of course the story is a tantalizing one. She understands Blondine's reaction even as she shift uncomfortably. "Well," Poet says, looking anywhere but her friend's face, "there are blasphemies, and then there is Blasphemy." 

She takes a deep breath. "I killed her," she says, letting the words go the way one would cast ash to the wind. There is no way to deliver such a line delicately, and she still cannot bring herself to look at Blondine's face. She has not spoken the truth aloud. But now she has and the full weight of her actions presses on her once more, threatening to drag her under.

Well, at least it was an ending, alright. Poet's confession was straightforward and although Blondine might have preferred a dash more of pizazz, she understood the priestess's hesitation. It was clear that there was something unsavory between them — disgust, loathing, shame — and Blondine, being the ever cheerful beast she was, didn't enjoy it one bit. 

A moment of silence passed before she decided to speak up, though not until after she'd taken in all of the risks. I've killed someone, she said, voice low and brows furrowed. The look on her face was almost one of confusion, though she'd known exactly what she said and meant. Do you think I'm a good person?

Of course, their situations had been a tad different, but the overarching theme was the same.

ill slap a fade on this for us? <3

The answer she gets is not one she expects, but then again, Blondine does have a way of surprising her. Her sweet-sharp eyes flick to the medic, expression raw (how strangely sorrow sits on her, foreign the way it turns her lips and lowers her eyes). Blondine's killed, too, then. Somehow the thought is not comforting to Poet; too many variables, perhaps. 

"I don't know," she answers, honestly, "but I believe you are good to me, and to Indra, and the others. Perhaps that is enough."

Somehow she doubts it, but for now, it'll have to do. Carefully she steps forward and gathers the bushel of lavender in her mouth, offering Blondine a tentative smile as they return to their work, passing the rest of their time in contemplative (for her, at the least) silence.