Sun Mote Copse you were made for starlit things

"and to you, res drunak," eshamun intoned, licking the dirt-motes from her crimson fur before smiling widely at her sister. they had no enmity between them, she saw, no competition; in her mind, theirs was a true loyalty, for arunik'ra had her role, and eshamun her own. there was no need to squabble over ranks or fight one another for status. 

"i hope that it is molech's will i soon conceive. take ar-khalba when your time comes, sister. he is a good choice." or perhaps the priestess would steal off into the night to find a rugged man of these odd lands. it mattered not, only that arunik'ra returned with her belly filled with children for the pleasure of the eight-armed one.