Seaside Moors Maybe I should get to church on Sunday...

so great the temptation to prod gently at the base of that closed iron door, but erzulie left off it. happy to apply her focus elsewhere, the harlot inspected the plants that stryx had spat aside. inedible, rough sedges, she gleaned after a moment, before her cinnamon toes slid into the dirt and she began to nudge clods of soil aside.
it was easy work, mindless work. unlike the stillwater woman, erzulie thought about what had been said before, and what might be said at a later time. for now, she glanced skyward, wet her lips, turned back to the cool earth and her stoic companion.
a small bow curved her lips into a wry line. "you have spent much time at sea?" she inquired, gesturing toward the shelled creature stryx had come by.