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

nap! this is so cute im dying

Lulled by the warmth of the other and the comfortable glow of poppy-dulled senses, Poet drifts into dreamless sleep. When she awakens at last her senses come back to her disjointed, and for a moment she freezes, unable to remember where she is. This is not the temple ... ah. She sighs, the memory of... everything returning to her. Her high has mostly worn off, though enough lingers to undercut the immediate wave of sorrow at remembering.

Carefully she pulls away from the golden warrior enough to stretch out, body twisting cat-like. Yellow eyes land on the other woman's face, searching for a moment with new clarity, not looking for anything in particular but taking in the quiet intimacy of their shared sleep. She draws in a breath but does not speak yet, not wanting to disturb the precious silence, the other's rest.