Bearclaw Valley oh brother, our blood was so thick

If Indra is the type to share, or if she needs a gentle push, Poet can't say, but it is only a beat until her answer comes decisively delivered. She'd suspected one or more of the women in the valley to be carrying pups, that well-known scent lingering in the air. Who, however, she had not tried to discern, being neither a midwife nor carrying children of her own. (She thinks as an aside, perahps she should put effort into gathering more herb for Blondine's sake, given the healer will most likely be attending to midwifely duties.)

The expriestess makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, even as she tilts her head. "You seem unhappy about it," she observes, her tone lilting slightly to leave space for a question. From what she's seen, the sisters seem nigh inseperable; she wonders if the pregnancy has driven a wedge between them. It must have caused something to put Indra in such poor condition, and Poet hopes she can provide some small comfort.