Bitterroot Valley I should let ya know I get torked when people ignore me!

The sinner's stayed by Sif's side as instructed, finding a relative peace in the company of the enthusiastic if naive younger woman. But she does not feel the need to be glued at the hip. She is unused to a land with so much variety, so many new places to see, and every day the freedom feels a little bit less suffocating and a little bit more, well... freeing. 

And so she sets out for herself, a day trip or so. Something to enjoy in solitude, something to reflect. There are habits of her upbringing that she will surely never lose: meditation, reflection, the odd prayer. It is not that she can simply stop being superstitious, even if religion itself has fled her. Under her breath she hums an old hymnal, a relic of a not-so-bygone time. 

An unusual sight breaks her meditations. A wolf like creature, yes, but the smell's slightly wrong, the color... Poet's never encountered a dog before, doesn't know the word for it. Intrigued, she steps closer, footfalls elegant. "You look determined," the blasphemer says casually, her canny yellow gaze sweeping the other's honeyed flank, "what is it you look so fiercely for?"