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

The way the gold-hewn woman speaks amuses her, though she does not quite laugh out loud, unable to muster the energy to expend the breath. "It is cold all over," she muses aloud, then blinks, Jude's request (command?) cutting through her hazy high. It's an innocent request, she knows, and the sort of intimacy the other priestesses would share exactly at times like this. It is because of that she hesitates, a flood of feelings threatening to overtake her.

In the end the poppy wins out. "As you wish," she sighs warmly, and rises up to drift closer, slotting against the larger form of the warrior woman. She does not mind the lingering mud on the other's legs, her own dirty paws tucked against her chest as she embraces the warmth of the other against her back. "Better?" she asks, her eyes fluttering closed, comfortable. While she has shared similar intimacies with others like her, the act of laying so close to one outside the temple feels foreign, a small sin. It seems it's still too early for her to shake her natural reaction to committing small sins, even if she knows it's not really one, not anymore. Chasing away such thoughts, Poet allows herself to breathe the scent of the other, focusing on the external world over her internal.