Shadowwyn Moor he beseeched him lay a hand upon fever-hot brow

It is not terribly difficult to follow Sif's words, despite the strange way they're strung together. So she has not known Wardruna as long as Poet initially suspected; perhaps it is not so surprising, given the draw the portent emanates. Or perhaps she has simply been groomed to gravitate toward mythical characters, to tend to their whims. 

Sif did not catch her name last time, it seems. The edges of her mouth lift up as she tells her "Poet," voice reassuring. She has yet to meet Wardruna's other women (nor does she know how many he has, come to think upon it) but she finds herself somewhat charmed by this enigmatic foreigner. She leans forward slightly, expression mischevious. "Why did you join Wardruna?" Poet asks after taking a moment to decide the simplest way to phrase it. She's very aware of her personal failings, but intrigued to know what would cause someone else to consent to Wardruna's particular vision of home. What exactly he will ask of all of them she is not sure yet but she cannot imagine a man collecting the companionship of women with no interest in laying with any of them (thoughts she will, of course, keep to herself for now).