Wild Berry Meadow there to abide with my creator, god,

The woman's demeanor relaxes, drawing Poet in further, pleased as always by not being rejected. Perhaps her urge to comfort comes less from a place of selflessness and more from a need to be validated externally through creating dependencies on herself. No, not perhaps: definitely, but know that and doing something to change it are different things.

Besides, she's never lied about being selfish.

The nod conveys very little and yet she thinks she can grasp the edges of what the other is carrying. A small gesture says more than a large one, Poet thinks. But what can she do here to assauge? "If I may," she murmurs, coming carefully closer should the other allow until her paw may seek to rest on top of the other's in a quiet display of solidarity, offering the simple touch of her body as an anchor-point.