Shadowwyn Moor he beseeched him lay a hand upon fever-hot brow

The water is refreshing and helps take the edge of the headache that is gathering behind her temples. There is always some small retribution for your sins, she thinks, and then looks up, catching scent of the other woman. Sif, Wardruna's other companion. Poet finds her intriguing. She's very different from any other the priestess has encountered, even accounting for the obvious language barrier.

She returns the chuff, having turned to face her properly. "Sif," she greets, and sits back on her haunches, her tail curled elegantly around her toes. "How are you?" Poet asks, though she is unsure if the clay-colored woman will understand any of it. Never hurts to try, she supposes.