Bearclaw Valley oh brother, our blood was so thick

indra's ears, while splayed to the side in dejection, subtly strained for poet's answer. the priestess hummed, as if giving great consideration to the words she was about to commit to the audible world. indra marveled then at the command the woman had on the world and its realities -- and how firmly, convincingly she spoke of something that had yet to be.

it was a small comfort to indra to listen to the agouti priestess' articulate vision; they could make their own family - they could beat this. indra was reminded that this was not the most harrowing her life had been; surely, the road ahead would not be as perilous as the twisted path she had left behind her.

she was appreciative of poet's insights - it was a rare glimpse into another's candid life experience. when poet then expanded she shared a similar grief, indra's woeful expression seemed to soften into apologetic sadness. "i'm sorry." she said -- for both poet's lack of parents, and for her own pity-party. "so you know then." she confirmed with a finality, a nod of her muzzle given in understanding. she didn't need to explain any further, having found strange kinship in the woman by virtue of the very thing that had cleaved her life in two. "thank you."