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

sorry for the wait!

 There is something so guileless and so charming about her, Poet cannot help but be taken. She hums in response to Sif's answer, moving closer so that she may lay across from her, their paws touching. "I can be family," she says, voice solemn. It is not a declaration that she makes lightly. The blasphemer has never known family in the true sense of the word - she has known duty and loyalty, pledge and oath. She does not know her bloodline and she never will. But perhaps she can forge a new one here, with Sif, with Wardruna and his women. "Take care," she murmurs thoughtfully, more to herself. "We can take care."