Bearclaw Valley everything is never as it seems

For Poet, a name is more than a name. Her birth name had been stripped away from her, long since forgotten, and replaced by this fragment of scripture. It carries weight, gravity, a marking of respect. The full length of it is not a trifle... it does not carry mystical power, of course, but it is still something to be valued. 

But confronted by Laurel's reaction, she can't help but burst into laughter. Wardruna and Sif had not understood either, but their reaction had been so much more measured. She laughs until it turns into a wheeze, uncharacteristically undignified, and shakes her head. How refreshing! "It is, ah, a religious thing," Poet explains, her mouth still twitching, "but yes, 'shit-balls' is a fair description."

Laurel rebuffs her attempt at further conversation. Well, fair enough, she doesn't mind. The ex-priestess dips her head in a nod, fighting the remainder of her urge to snicker. "Of course," she says, gaining control of her voice again, "wish her well from me." What an odd, grouchy girl. Poet likes her.