Coconut Grove dard-e-dil

staying a teeny bit vague

sif's words roll around in her like a treasure hidden in a forgotten bottom drawer. should she be more frightened, she wonders, of govinda's apparent deeds? but to do so would be to ignore her own particular histories, things sif does not know, things that make her a bad wolf indeed. if anything hamartia feels more tightly bound to the golden would-be killer, for she holds his old name and his sins neatly under her tongue. 

what she's going to do about that, she hasn't decided.

govinda had been right about the groves. the palms, anachronistic as they are, play deceptive tricks, fooling her into feeling removed from the rest of the teekons and the steps she's walked before. she does not think she will allow sif to cross her path again; as much as she values her old sister-wife, sif belonged to poet, a creature she is not. the thought fills her with mourning, and it is in that vulnerable state govinda comes upon her. quickly she pulls her sorrows back to herself, turning canny yellow eyes on him with a lazy smile, an easy question. "need something?"