Sun Mote Copse Blow the wind southerly.

The words and gestures her friend made caused Towhee to laugh again, despite the somber news from a few minutes ago. She let Niamh finish before she deigned to reply with a blasé, "I like it rough," and another shrug. She then snorted loudly at her fellow tradesman's request. "Those are for Pippin's eyes only," she joked, pausing for emphasis before adding, "and Kaertok's... and that other guy's... and Rye's... and that other guy's... and that other guy's... ooooops?"

She wouldn't normally have minded Niamh's inspection overly much, though Towhee really didn't want her friend getting a good look and recognizing what was unmistakably a bite mark. So, instead, she suddenly shoved playfully against the blonde's shoulder. "Don't try to change the subject. We were discussing how you and Phox are going to make all the babies, hopefully enough that I can borrow a couple, seeing as—" Abruptly, she realized she'd never told Niamh about her suspected infertility.

"I don't think I've had a chance to tell you," she continued after a peculiar pause, "that I don't think I can have kids, I mean. That's why I fuck around so irresponsibly. Although, just lately, I've been really hoping I'm wrong." There was none of her normal sadness as she conveyed this information, more of a controlled but nonetheless naked hope in her orange eyes.