Sun Mote Copse On the 858th day...

"You did? Geez, I do not know, how you will ever recover from that trauma," Wraen remarked grinning and rolled her eyes. Time had passed since she had seen Towhee - her grumpy/blunt/straightforward/no nonesense friend, who save for white hairs here and there had not lost an ounce of her will to live. Out of courtesy Wraen did not ask, how many times the old gal herself had told Death to... go and do better things with her time, because every meeting with a maker is a deeply personal one. 

"Yeah, I always have wondered, why the hell they call it "love-making" - have you not?" she said, looking in the distance, but feeling glad that guests of dreams did not have to witness every single thing their hosts conjured up. "It is messy and there are no aesthetics about it, really," she went on. "And those fruits of the process are also very painful to have in the end," she side-eyed Towhee. "But, what do I know," I died a virgin. "You tell me."