Wapun Meadow rain fell and collected in the hollows of their palms

@Wardruna perhaps?


Despite the chill of winter, the day is bright. Poet is bright, too, her movements brisk for once. She has always been easily transformed by the act of ritual, slipping back into it as one would a familiar robe, a second skin. She tries not to dwell on whether or not it is an unearned bit of kindness she is giving herself. But she still does not believe in the gods and she knows this will not absolve her no matter how many times she begs at the altar's feet. It's selfish, and in that way, she can justify it.

She has managed to collect a small bundle of lavender: a stringy, hardy bunch, made mean by the cold, but surviving nonetheless. It feels appropriate. In the spring she will seek out violets and perhaps some sweet grass, but for now she is content with her findings, and gathers the bundle into her mouth as she walks across the meadow.

wardruna follows poet's scent with concise purpose to find her though the northerner masks it behind a leisurely pace. addie's prolonged absence has not fallen beneath wardruna's notice but by the time he noticed that she was gone and thought anything might be abnormal about it her scent had faded and there was nothing for him to follow. he is left to assume that she decided to leave — which was not entirely unexpected. his treatment of his ex-thrall during her time as his slave had not been anything that would deem the savage as 'gentlemanly'. her absence leaves a pain in his chest that he does not want to come face to face with and thus he smothers and drowns it in the wives that are left to him: Sif and Poet. He's spent time with Sif recently, speaking with her of making their 'marriage' an official mateship, and today he seeks out the ex-priestess to check on her.

it is not long before he finds her with a bundle of some type of plant ( flowers/herbs/medicines was never his forte ) between her teeth. seeing her soothes an unrest that had been fidgeting beneath the cage of bone and sinew in his chest and he breathes an inaudible sigh of relief. "poet," he coos in his lilting accent in greeting as he saunters towards her like a male lion approaching one of the women in his pride. as wardruna draws nearer he will attempt to brush his muzzle against her's if she allows the touch whilst being careful not to disturb the bundle she carries.

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.

she allows the touch of his muzzle against her own but he keeps it brief, allowing her to nose him after she places her bundle of flowers at her feet. "well enough," he responds with brisk and flippant gruffness as he tries to downplay it. not the whole truth but not a complete lie either. addie's disappearance troubles him even though it does not come as entirely unexpected to him; and try as wardruna does he cannot entirely keep himself from showing that her prolonged and extended absence without word bothers him. it was not as if he looked at his wives and found them to be replaceable. they weren't. he couldn't just coherence another into taking addie's place. oh, no doubt he could charm another woman to his side to take the spot but she would not be addie and this hypothetical wife would not fill the void left in her wake. "you?" he inquires, clearly intent on not focusing upon himself for longer than was absolutely necessary.

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.

 ❤ ❤ ❤ no worries!

 A smile briefly flits across her features, warming her expression. There is much she does not know about Wardruna, despite her status as his wife, and yet his sincerity surprises her. Her attraction to him had laid much in, frankly, the circumstances in which he appeared in her life. Outwardly she can read his pride, his confidence, appealing things that do not tell her much about the man underneath the brawn.

"I," Poet begins, and pauses. She starts again. "I'd like to ... get to know you better. And perhaps be more open, myself." The words end on a shaky laugh: for all that she has kept to herself she has not exactly been reserved, merely flighty. But no, there are things she has not shared yet (and she is not ready to share them but maybe in time). Her gaze falls on Wardruna, trying to study him for the man he is and not the portent she saw in him. "How long had you known Sif and the others when we met?" She asks, hoping it can serve as a starting point for a deeper investigation into his person.