Bearclaw Valley a gentle gossamer wing

Indra's attitude reminds her to accept the gratitude with grace rather than dwell selfishly on the ways she feels she's failed. She hums thoughtfully, dipping her head in a soft nod with a murmured, "alright," her voice humbled. 

They do not dwell on it, Indra moving the conversation along. Grateful for the temperence, Poet nods. "I've met Laurel briefly," she agrees (thinking fondly of 'shit-balls' yet again). Three months: roughly around the same time as Poet's own arrival, although at first she had not paid much attention to the valley's other inhabitants. "I came to the Valley around that time as well, along with Wardruna and Sif," she says aloud, unsure if Indra's met her husband or sister-wife yet. Wardruna's presence has been scarce, alas, though she is not particularly bothered (Laurel had been right, after all, in that they barely knew each other) so long as Sif is around. "Truthfully," she admits, her voice dropping slightly, "I have not been very good at... socializing. I am not so used to living in a pack of this kind." This comes with an accompanying, slightly self-deprecating grimace, unused as she is to admitting to her now-obvious social flaws. Things certainly had been easier when she'd been mostly a tool for religious ceremony and not just, a person, expected to ... bond with others.