"Hanaha!" Giri shouts, throwing the catgirl into a strong-armed headlock. "It's been so long!" 

What is dignity in all this? In the face of even the slight risk of a greater demon being freed and rampaging about the camp? What is dignity in the face of this spirit who has already humiliated Giri in every encounter? Dignity finds itself stood next to responsibility and utterly dwarfed, as the tree at the foot of a mountain. 

And beyond that, this responsibility is also freeing. The true virtue of the N'yari, that proper relations to them are to let yourself go, to wrestle wildly, let them tear your clothes and roll in the mud and damn who might be watching. If she'd only learned all this earlier, much grief could have been saved. And if she could manage things now, there was much grief still to save. The Flower Kingdoms deserved to have their wildness preserved!

As for the scribe, she deserved to see this too. She especially. She deserved to see Giri's muscles heave and watch the witch sweat as she wrestled a proper N'yari. The scribe deserved to watch Giri roll in the mud, her hair loose, her clothes ragged, her breath coming hot and fast, even as the other combat matched it. Fengye ought to have the opportunity to look closely as cat and girl strained against each other for her, pressed and fought and tumbled because of her machinations and machinations of Heaven on her behalf. Is this something that could fill the hole that Giri saw in her heart, the boundless craving?

[Rolling to Entice Fengye. 6+1+2=9. She can decide to offer the string or react.]