Otatso Wetlands a sword, a gun and a bottle of fun

 Following her conversation with the delicate shewolf named Mary, the priestess lets herself drift, taking a second dose of poppy to keep her high for just a moment longer. She is being careful, truthfully!, but she is not ready to surrender the warm peace, knows that the hollow feeling in her bones will return with the fading haze.

 Where she is from, the temple, the land is fairly consistent, blanketed by thick forest and dug den. She is unused to the shifting variety of terrain and so does not expect the wetland, intrigued by the trees until her paw sinks into the brackish slime. It squelches underfoot and slowly she pulls back, startled, and bursts into slow laughter. So strange. So wondrous. So... uncrossable, she thinks, and pulls back, instead trailing the perimeter, watching her toes submerge with each step. 

A series of curses catches her ear. Lazily she moves toward the sound. There is a woman on a rock, posed above her. It makes her think of Beneath-Night's Breath, and she sucks in a sharp breath despite her high. But this is not the temple, it is a swamp, and this is just another strange girl, this time large and beautiful, golden and white. Instinctively she wishes she had saved some poppy, so that she might have something to offer the reclining figure, the thought dismissed even as it occurs. 

Instead the sinner climbs up alongside her, on a slightly smaller rock behind. "It's quite thick," she comments, voice dreamy, referring to the mud that stains both their feet. Unlike the goodly creature, she does not bother trying to cleanse her paws, letting herself revel in being unclean.