A gentle purr rose from the table where Bridget was presently lying on her stomach. She was enjoying the relaxing splendor of a massage from the catkin woman above her, the little beans on her fingers reaching just right into every sore spot and knot after months of travel.
Nyandor was as close of a place to paradise as a cat-lover like her could be. There were colorful catfolk of all stripes, spots, and calicos, and she just adored all the little cat-themed places there were to visit.
Darlae, meanwhile, was out in the massage parlor's rock garden, sneezing up a storm.
As the latest tempestuous round of sneezes subsided, she slid the door open and walked back in, her robe doing little to hide the warrior elf's long legs.
"Ugh... I swear I wasn't allergic in college..."
"It's been at least a century since we were last attending the Academy, Dar. If there's one thing I've learned as a witch, it's that bodies change over time."