Sequoia Coast Like whirlpools

The grey wraith listened with attentive ears, her gaze following the path the mystic traveled. She spoke, explaining in her soft voice the verbal altercation she and the other Sisters had endured -- shyly, Caiaphas strode a ways and listened while awkwardly emptying her bladder rather potently over an unfortunate fern brush.

She said nothing until the female was through, and she processed their conversation with a slightly sour expression. Even as a recently indoctrinated wolf, Caiaphas could not say they were fanatics -- every wolf had a belief and every belief was profane and sacrilegious in the eyes of other wolves.

"It is known, then." She echoed, though her tone was neither as soft nor as flush with conviction as Psamathe's own. It was not that Caiaphas thought their belief inane -- it was only that she, a recent acolyte, had yet to feel thoroughly comfortable with the 'literature' involved. "Are there many back in Themiscyra? Why did we leave?"