Barrow Fields curled inward in the night, a curious thing, love

After departing the Valley Poet beelines for the coast, following the sweet smell of salt over grass and field and mountain. She does not know yet if she intends to return or not, the thought half-formed in her head. Her body thrums as she moves, reminding her of her current purpose: reckon with the beast, reckon with her sins, find Sif and... and that part isn't too clear. She just ... wants to see her. Maybe talk to her one more time. 

She stops for naught until the line of the coast comes into view, still at distance but: present, before her. With a sigh the ex-priestess draws to a stop, feeling fatigue settle in her bones. She will rest here for now. Sif mentioned the sea, but did not say where she would be; it occurs to Poet that finding her will be... more difficult than she originally anticipated.

Ah, well. There's no going back now. Squaring her shoulders Poet steps through the fields, looking for a quick meal and a place for rest.