Qeya River heavy like a stone, waiting for the river to run

---

she lay splayed over a sun-warmed boulder, growing more and more uncomfortable as the shade shifted further and further. gaze traced the distant shapes of a small band of elk in the distance; to large, too fit to take down on her own. three stags, one, watching over the spread of wildflowers and sun-touched grasses. 

forcing the breath from her lungs in a huff, she stood, shaking stiffly her pelt as if it may help the heat dissipate. it didn't, and the huntress made her way down the bank, splashing into the river and allowing it to push up against her hocks, tug at her. she peered northward, chest tight; but it so common a feeling, now, that she found herself simply ignoring it. it was only right that she do it; she could not find it within her to let her poison go unmended.

Her venture to the Herbalist's Cache is a success and she carries her rewards proudly, a slightly oversized bundle of herbs clenched beneath her teeth. Fat red poppies bloom from her jaw underneath an assortment of lavender, chamomile, goldenrod, marigolds and thymes. She does not indulge in what she wants yet (yet!), intent to hurry back to Silvertip to check on her patient's progress.

Instead she is slightly waylaid, her route thwarted by the pack just north of the Cache. Crossing the mountains would be quicker; more treacherous, too, and so she opts to curl the long way around, her pace untroubled. Thirst drives her toward the river. She lays the herbs down gently by the bank and drinks her fill, looking up only when the splashing of a stranger catches her attention. Something about the moment, the weather perhaps, or just the satisfaction of having gotten what she needs, compells her to smile and call out, "hello!" her voice litling against the current.

---

she eases onto her haunches, shifting easily so that she lays, sphinx-like, in the shallows of the same river she knows will become treacherous and dangerous the further down one traveled. it was then that the cheery greeting drifted upriver, and her muzzle flinched upward to catch the silver and tawny stranger in her view. the idea of getting up out of the water that has only just began to provide blissful relief was not appealing in the least, and thus she merely raised herself onto her haunches, peering down at the woman and offering a "hello" in return.

gaze moved from the stranger to the bundle of flowers and herbs, picking out the few she recognized. "are you a healer?"  she'd known the odd wolf who collected things because they looked pretty (Seelie coming to mind immediately), but these seemed to be the kind of herbs and flowers with a purpose.

The water looks refreshing enough that Poet contemplates for a moment joining her in the shallows. She hesitates for a moment, wondering if the move would be too familiar, before surrendering and taking delicate steps into the water, letting it lap around her ankles, staying close enough to keep an eye on her herb bundle. 

"Of a sort," she answers the woman's question with a faint smile. Since arriving at the Teekons she has been most frequently called on for her knowledge of herbs in medicinal healing, yet Poet still does not consider herself a doctor of traditional means.  Her specialty lay in the mind, of healing through connection and community. Expanding on this she adds, "I'm currently tending to a friend's injuries, but I prefer to think of myself as a provider of counsel rather than medicines."

---

the woman seems inspired by her own foray into the creek, moving delicately into it's waters. the huntress allows her gaze to sweep over her quickly, at the odd markings she's never seen anything like before. her gaze returns to the woman's face, head canting curiously. "I know a man like that."  he was good at it, too, in the same way her father had once been. 

she's curious, having never been the best at providing it herself. still, she forges ahead with an introduction, straightening a little as the water suddenly grows a little too cool for comfort. "I'm Dawn, Morningside."

She is not suprised by the woman, by Dawn's admission. She knows she is not unique in her talents (and finds that comforting in its own way, for being the singular bearer of counsel would be lonely, would it not?) and is glad, in fact, that the other has a touchstone for what Poet speaks of. Offering a smile to this point she returns the introduction: "I am Poet." Morningside is not a familiar name to her but she accepts it gracefully. "Not from anywhere as of yet," she adds, "although my companions are attempting their own claim." Why does she distance herself from them? She is loyal to Phocion's cause as she has told him, and yet, it does not feel like her cause. If it were not for Phocion she would not be there after all. Conflicted, she falls silent, unsure if this is a moment to push for beginnings of diplomacy or if she can just be Poet, unattached, as she finds she wants to be here.

she is quick a moment. "you don't seem especially attached to them."  she muses aloud, head canting a fraction once more. she rolls her shoulders, moving to sit atop her haunches and neglecting how odd her thick coat must appear when half slicked and half fluffed and dry. she does not especially care. she's rather interested in the woman herself, but her position nags until she asks, "where do they hope to settle?" the words don't hold as much interest as the first thought, but they are said all the same.

"I am," she says, embarrassed her tone could have come off so uninvested. Although. "Or rather, I am invested in my companions; their ideas are theirs." Phocion's religion, after all, is not hers, nor does she have interest in being converted. Phocion's company is her sought after prize. The river where she stands does not feel treacherous and so after a moment the priestess lowers herself, crouching and letting the water lap gently at her belly. It is soothing. "Silvertip Mountain," she answers Dawn's other question, offering a smile. "It's alluring in its own way. Worth sticking around for now," she adds, a touch teasing once again, owning the callout against her (after all the other woman is not entirely wrong.)