Bearclaw Valley my carnivore heart comes out after dark

She commits the man's name to memory. Xan, their new leader. Alpha, she supposes the term is. The men talk of skills and offerings; Poet half listens, disinterested. She had not known of Wardruna's disability but she remembers the strange marking in his eye that so drew her to him. Her people valued the loss of senses, for it led one to truth without distraction. More the pity it's only the one eye, she thinks, though it reaffirms her decision to stay by his side.

Wardruna's look requests they speak too. She sighs. She'd rather not. But then Sif begins to speak, clearly struggling with the question, and feeling a surge of protective instinct, the sinner lays her snout across the clay-furred girl's shoulders. Her eyes find Xan's face. "In a past life, I was a priestess," Poet tells him, voice low. "I am familiar with plants and their uses, holy and medicinal, and I am gifted in oration. I can tend to your gardens." It's a saying, not a literal truth, though whether Xan will understand her isn't in her paws.