#and a fixation on equine behavior

[captainderyn]

Ooh can I contribute! I love horse psychology and don’t have a ton to coherently add but two things:

Context: I have a 7 y/o American mustang mare. She was born in the holding pens (aka she didn’t grow up wild) but mostly just sat in a field and was lightly restarted until almost two years ago when I started her as my dressage prospect. For those who don’t know about mustangs, they’re feral/wild horses and (in my opinion) have much stronger instincts and independence than your average domesticated horse. Despite never being truly wild, my mustang has the instincts that tell you she’d have been Boss Mare of her herd. What does that mean? She’s *incredibly* self aware, independent, and has incredible survival instincts for better or worse. If she thinks something poses a “risk” (in horse terms) to her, you have to work your butt off to prove its worth her while.

1) Communication is incredibly important with horses, especially very intelligent ones like my above described mare. When reading a book called “Connection Training” (highly recommend for my horse peeps), there was a section about greeting your horse instead of just pulling them from their field to groom/ride/whatever. They talked about how horses will walk up to each other and bump noses once or twice to start their interaction. So, I tried it with my mare. Walking into her field, holding out my fist. And what do you know, she bumped it! I’d stand for a minute, then try again in a “do you want to engage?” and most of the time she does! There’s a certain excitement to a horse when they realize you attempt to understand them.

2) Fear in horses can also sometimes be a body thing. In some mustangs they’ll be weird about their left side, as that’s the side they’re branded on. For my mare, her right side was very odd. She’d flip her shit if anything happened on that side. Yet, she wasn’t spooky or scared. You could do anything around her, the wind could be gusting (thanks Midwest) and she’d be fine, hell, big planes could fly low overhead to get back to the airport and she’d simply look up at them (first horse I’ve seen do that). But she couldn’t even *look* right despite there being nothing physically wrong. Turns out, for whatever reason, she had little to no bodily awareness on that side. We had to help her “unlock” that part of her body. And that’s been consistent with the rest of her training: everytime we try something new we have to either physically help her put her body there (such as yielding her throat latch) or position her body to where biomechanically she does it without thinking (right lead canter) otherwise, she thinks too hard and can’t do it. After that, permenantly unlocked like she’s done it for years. Biomechanics people, biomechanics!

Secret third thing: no, mares aren’t worse than geldings or more temperamental. They have hormone cycles, so some times of the month they’re more uncomfy, but people project human sexism and stereotypes onto mares an uncomfortable amount. My running theory is: mares historically were meant to take care of their bands and as such they’re independent thinkers and problem solvers and not so much followers. *GENERALLY* speaking, geldings are more eager to please and follow and most people’s issues with mares are because they don’t bother trying to understand equine behavior, communication, or hormone cycles and want to bully their way to what they want and in *my own personal experience* geldings are more yielding to this approach then mares.

Reading Recommendations:

Evidence Based Horsemanship- Martin Black and Stephen Peters (more neurology and biomechanical stuff)

Connection Training: Hannah Weston and Rachel Bedingfield

Me: I'm going to look at horse forums, I bet the drama there is so funny

Me after 4 hours of horse forums: Damn....those people really love and care about their horses...

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

AA is a faith-based organization. It touts alcoholism as a “disease” and then proceeds to treat it in no way medically, instead prescribing life-long dependence on what amounts to prayer sessions, with relapse blamed on personal moral failings and lack of commitment (not “working the program”). That is, the blame is attributed entirely to the patient, not the treatment.

Unlike any other disease, there is no discussion of “maybe this isn’t the right treatment for you.” There is no doubt whatsoever that this is the one and only way to treat your problem. You’re saved by AA or you fall into depravity. A false dichotomy for the patient and the program itself remains unfalsifiable. It never fails, only the patient fails. No part of it ever gets anywhere near the biology, the physiology, the neurochemistry of alcohol and addiction.

As with any faith-based belief system, there’s also no sense of gradation or proportion. Drinking a glass of wine or going on a three day black-out bender provide identical results: you failed, and you start over from the beginning at day zero. As with Xtians and their divine forgiveness, if you’re going to repent for a single murder, you might as well kill the entire village. If you’re going to fall off the wagon, you might as dive off in spectacular fashion.

Paradoxically, it creates an unhealthy relationship with and fixation on alcohol, like the Xtian fixation on looking for the devil’s temptations and attempts to trip you up, or the antiracist who knows everything is racist, you just need to find it.

There are actual medical treatments for alcohol use disorder.

https://www.webmd.com/mental-health/addiction/features/fighting-alcoholism-with-medications

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/alcohol-use-disorder/diagnosis-treatment/drc-20369250

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2015/04/the-irrationality-of-alcoholics-anonymous/386255/

I visited one of three private treatment centers, called the Contral Clinics, that Sinclair co-founded in Finland. [..] The most common course of treatment involves six months of cognitive behavioral therapy, a goal-oriented form of therapy, with a clinical psychologist. Treatment typically also includes a physical exam, blood work, and a prescription for naltrexone or nalmefene, a newer opioid antagonist approved in more than two dozen countries. When I asked how much all of this cost, Keski-Pukkila looked uneasy. “Well,” he told me, “it’s 2,000 euros.” That’s about $2,500—a fraction of the cost of inpatient rehab in the United States, which routinely runs in the tens of thousands of dollars for a 28-day stay.

When I told Keski-Pukkila this, his eyes grew wide. “What are they doing for that money?” he asked. I listed some of the treatments offered at top-of-the-line rehab centers: equine therapy, art therapy, mindfulness mazes in the desert. “That doesn’t sound scientific,” he said, perplexed. I didn’t mention that some bare-bones facilities charge as much as $40,000 a month and offer no treatment beyond AA sessions led by minimally qualified counselors.

[dearbeautilation]

Common Misconceptions About Therapy

You may have noticed that in a lot of advice messages I get, I recommend talking to a therapist or a counselor, which is something I have done myself for years and have had profoundly positive results from. The thing is, so many people (and quite a few in my own family and friend circle) have misconceptions about therapy that make them assume it’s not even an avenue worth exploring to help with their struggles. Here are a couple common judgements about therapy I’ve come across (or have even had myself) and the actual truths, from my humble lil’ experience at least.

1) Therapy is expensive.

It is true that many amazing therapists are available under most insurance plans, but depending on your coverage you may still have a high deductible rate to pay before your sessions are covered. Here’s what to do if you have insurance:

Ask if you can set up a payment plan, where you pay as much of a co-pay you can manage on each visit. I have personally done this when my insurance did not cover enough to make the visits I needed feasible.

Find therapists in-network through your insurance, where you can know upfront how much you must pay before coverage begins, and cut down your search time by only contacting in-network therapists.

        And if you don’t have health insurance:

COUNSELING!!! Talking to any qualified professional 1-on-1 is the most crucial part of therapy, and you can get this from a counselor at your school or at a clinic. Check out the SAMHSA locator to find someone near you.

This link is super helpful for lots of resources for affordable therapy.

A walk-in clinic you may go to for a cold or flu may also be able to help hook you up with resources, so don’t be afraid to ask. 

2) Therapists tell you how to fix your problems.

Therapists aren’t fairy godparents who listen to your problems and then tell you what to do to magically solve them; their job is to get to understand you well enough so they can guide you to understand the root of your actions, reactions and patterns so you can be more empowered to solve your OWN problems and make peace with the past. This is why ongoing, weekly therapy is most ideal; it is not a quick or easy process to address issues with your mind and your life, and in therapy you must respect that and respect that, just like with anything else in life, it takes time, effort and patience to make progress. 

Life is inherently complicated – to expect therapy to be a quick solve is, excuse the phrasing, crazy. You want to stop the loop of bullshit you’re currently living? Be prepared to work for it, and before that, be prepared to learn why you are *deserving* of the payoff your hard work will undoubtedly give you. 

3) Only “crazy” people need therapy. 

Do you have a brain? Do you think thoughts and feel feelings? Then congrats,  you’re a candidate for therapy! It is an absolutely toxic stereotype that only people suffering from severe issues can benefit from therapy: with this mindset, it tells people who may be on mental health decline to wait until the issue gets out of hand to seek help. This to me is like having a cold, then seeing it turn into a fever, but saying “I’ll wait until I start passing out and pooping blood to go to the doctor”. Your mental health is just as important as your physical health, and the two are much more closely related that you may think.

Therapy is an incredible tool for anyone who is feeling overwhelmed by life in general, finds themselves fixated on negative things that hurt their self-image or relationships, is realizing they keep doing the same bad things over and over again, has just suffered a trauma or loss or accident, or is feeling simply stuck in life. 

4) Therapists just want to blame your parents for all your issues.

While you will probably at some point discuss your family and parental relationships with a therapist because these relationships are super impactful on our development, therapy is not about blaming anyone at the end of the day; it’s about understanding your reality and getting better equipped to deal with it so your quality of life is improved. You may come to conclusions that certain actions certain people have taken have impacted you negatively in some way, but such conclusions are only part of the steps you take towards ultimately having a healthier relationship with your feelings, with others, and with your life.

5) Therapy is always intense, serious, and clinical.

Not gonna lie-- therapy can get intense sometimes, and that’s part of its benefit. I’ve cried countless times while talking about certain things that just cut to the core, but it’s always served as a way to cleanse the hurt I was keeping locked up. What’s more, is that I’ve had so many laughs, breakthroughs, and completely chill, positive, casual sessions where it felt like I was just kicking it with a really smart friend who I trust.

6) Therapy is always in an office with couches and a plant.

No way! While it is quite common to have therapy in a warm, homey office setting, remember that there are many types of therapy in different settings, like:

Equine therapy

Occupational therapy

Group therapy

And more!

You can even reach a therapist from the comfort of your home via groups like: 

BetterHelp 

7Cups 

Ginger.io.

7.) All therapy is the same.

This article does a great job breaking down the main types of therapy. I myself have experience with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (basically talk therapy that focuses on redirecting and guiding my reactions and actions) and Art Therapy, which was integrated to the talk therapy and had me use both sides of my brain at the same time (the creative right and logical left) to work through challenges I brought up.

8) Therapists prescribe/ push you to take psych meds.

Your general practitioner or a psychiatrist are the only doctors who can prescribe mental-health related medication. Your therapist cannot prescribe you medication, but they may recommend you consult someone who can if, after getting to know you better, they believe you may benefit from medication in their professional opinion and from their experience with similar cases.

  9) Therapy is self-indulgent, narcissistic and frivolous.

There is nothing frivolous about taking control of your life and asking for help and guidance. It is a sign of strength to know when there might be a problem, to ask for help, and to accept that help; your problems do not need to be life or death, trauma-based, or crippling to be valid problems that can be helped with talking to a professional. Pain is relevant; it is empathy that allows us to feel for all kinds of problems or struggles we have never experienced ourselves, but it is the plain and simple human experience that causes us to react the way we do to the problems we have based on our own realities. Once you validate your own feelings and stop the comparisons, you stop self-sabotaging assumptions like this one; that’s a lil’ something I learned in therapy. ;)

Gifs via RealityTVGifs

[hex-and-fable]

Of Matter: Purpose. Pt: 1

[A guild Wars 2 Rp:] A:  Fractals of dust danced within the thick beams of light which stretched from the open panes of the tall floor to ceiling windows lining the West Wing of the Cress Estate. From where he sat---at a desk centered within the middle of the room surrounded by furniture which served mostly pragmatic purpose as opposed to decorative---he heard the daily prattle of the estates bustle. The room wasn’t entirely considered a study for a rather large table mapping out Kessex Hills implied it was more so used for strategic caravanning and overall meetings.  A glimmer caught the ember liquid left to breathe within a glass decanter as Argrin hoisted it from its post to pour himself another heavy cup. It was his third but by the plethora of paper littering his desk it was a testament to just how hard he’d been working throughout the day. Set to the edge of the massive oak desk was an untouched tray of fresh fruit and peppered jerky. Breathing  a sigh he wet his mouth with a quaff only to settle the heavy cup aside in order to massage his thickly fingers between his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if reading the same sentence caused him a hangover he could feel in his teeth. Gently a breeze swept in from the window causing the thin gossamer curtains to flutter in the wake of its uplifting dance. Curiously, the man pushed his chair back with a loud scrape of the chairs feet against the wood only meander toward the large window. With the back of his hand he nudged the curtain back only to peer down below where a collection of greenhorn soldiers were in the midst of their training. From where he stood the fervent clatter of sword to training doll clamored. There he stood lost deep within the throes of wistful memories of a time when the weight and soreness of a day in armor was a welcomed pain. S:  The pale guard captain was absent, having only attended the drills earlier on in the wee hours before dismissing herself for the rest of the day to tend to other, more pressing duties. She needn’t tend to her daughter as often now that she was old enough to attend her studies, but dutiful was her nature, Sigrid oft stopped by to see how she has progressed. Balancing home life and work had never come easy to her, but as she aged, she was starting to grow weary and much to her chagrin. It was not unheard of, particularly by the Head of the House, that she would slip her leash occasionally.  At her core, she was a wild child and still retained that inquisitive nature ranging from innocent to fatally persistent. She was a woman of action, but her body was outpacing her tumultuous spirit.Today she followed a different routine. Scarce as she may be, when it comes to transitioning positions, the two managed to gravitate to one another even if only briefly. It was difficult to pretend that everything was normal, but they tried.

 The door swung open incrementally, the hinges eliciting complaint before the padlock dropped with a click when it closed once more. Her footfalls were measured, but far from subtle. He could see it – after all, she was a creature of habit – how she paused at the corner of his desk to gently place the stopper in the decanter. In the past, she might have chided, even if light-heartedly, but now it was an expectation; for good or for ill was hard to discern.  He could feel her presence behind him now, peering past him down to the training grounds. However, what she fixated upon was not the same as he. “How about you relax a moment. I can handle the rest for today…” She offered, the Ascalonian diction bubbling within the hearth of her throat.

  A:  The pinion of his gaze flicked aside once the heavy weight of the door heralded her presence. His attention followed her gait till she was no longer visible to his peripheral but her company wasn’t an ailment. Normally he’d present himself the epitome of a Lord---no, something far more demanding. A head of House required diction and poise for the attire that most commonly adorned him was that of fitted suits and cufflinks. That blazing afternoon he opted for simpler attire in the form of a white dress shirt unbuttoned thrice at the chest with his sleeves rolled to the comforts of his elbows. The trousers he wore were akin to that of common folk, loose in all the right places for optimal luxury. A silver chain hung from the pocket something most definitely attached to that of a pocket watch. His knuckles were still decorated with the weathered ink of his tattoos, some of which were practically illegible on account of the hair collected there. “Just for a moment?” His rejoinder followed him as he turned around to face her, the beaming sun haloing about his raven haired crown pulling out the faint tinge of mahogany laced within it. At his temples his hair was peppered with grey the same managing its way within his facial hair. A habitual smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a gesture she was all too familiar with. Perhaps at some point in the beginning it was enough to make her heart flutter, perhaps that differed now but he still crooked a finger her direction in a ‘come hither’ motion. “We’ve had another caravan robbed at the Peaks. Centaurs are causing us more grief than they have in the past and it looks as if the agreement we’ve made with them is no longer in effect.” Another sigh eased through his nose. “They sent someone back alive to relay the message though the poor lad is left without an arm. Business as usual.” S:  No matter how many seasons passed, no matter how grey he became, the way the corner of his lips tugged upward along the corner always warranted a throaty chuckle from her. That, or an eye roll, depending on the day, but he never failed to coax a smile from the stoic, weathered femme. While his temerity had been humbled under the weight of his unwitting mantle, his tongue remained sharp and his addendums facetious. Humoring one of her wan smiles, she brought a hand to perch upon the cusp of his broad shoulder, sweeping the profile of her thumb over the ivory weave of his dress shirt. She had never been one for tactile gestures of affection, but with every touch, chaste or skating, correlated an unspoken word or sentiment. She leaned in to rest partially against his arm, adorn in modest attire as well – then again, all her shirts looked the same. Her hair had since grown long, braided back with the colors of the Cress house hold to keep it from tumbling down past her shoulder blades. In the right light, she still had her youthful repose, akin to the termagant shepherdess whom walked barefoot amongst the tall grass all those years ago. Telltale crow’s feet now persisted and the stress lines upon her brow had become more accentuated, but despite her scars and other physical nuances, it only seemed to make her appear increasingly regal. Once in a blue moon, she donned a gown, though oft her mood did sour, but she was not a woman without her poise or patience. In fact, she never raised her voice, ‘lest it was to acknowledge the guardsmen in the field or to call from across the room. Her presence commanded attentiveness and her tone of voice carried with it a firm and directive locution. The sheer disappointment within the vernacular was enough to make any stout man ashamed of his behavior.(edited)The tine of her incisor dimpled her lower tier as her brow knit, the news of the latest disruption meriting a tired sigh from her esophagus.  “I see. I think tomorrow I will see to him before I make my rounds. If he is of a mind, mayhap I can encourage him to speak more of what happened.” The familiar somber note bled into her diction. Her own history with the centaur nomads was a bitter one at that, perhaps more so than what she shared with the Charr. However, the Charr had some concept of reasoning, unlike the equine harriers. Some. While she was a woman of action, decisive, she was not without her sympathy. It was common for her to visit the sickly and injured or even work in the very fields alongside their farmers. She saw it as comradery, but perhaps others saw it as more. “What was the message they sent him away with?” A:  Without preamble Argrin further slipped his arm about the pinch of her waste and pinned his hand to rest at the swell of her hip. Idly, perhaps in tandem with the motion of her own, his thumb smoothed along it akin to some wordless sentiment. “With the way you frequent the infirmary it’s no a wonder people of this House look up to you in the manner that they do.” His breath kissed at the slope of her forehead as he leaned in to press his lips to it. There he lingered, eyes easing up to regard something unimportant across the way as his keyed into her phrasings. When she finished his free hand came to rise and rest at the shape of her chin, hoisting it up incrementally as to afford himself an easier vantage of her visage given the stark contrast in height between the two. “He was the message, mo grá. In addition, if we continue to take the paths we have been through Kessex we’ll see more and more of our men slaughtered. From what I was told, second hand given the foot soldiers who found him were the informants, they nailed the rest of our men to the walls of their villages. Most likely to ward any continual usage of the pathways.” Argrin’s jaw jerked with a twinge, “I think the best course of action would be to send an example of our own and burn that particular village to the ground and then change our route from land to water. It’ll cost a bit more by month to do so but in the long run it’ll save us having to find more men.” S: "It will save more lives." She agreed, coolly. However, she afforded a pause, reflective as she searched his features. Hooking her arm, she elevated a hand to gently wrap her fingers about his wrist and move up along the slope of his calloused hand until she held it with the heel of his palm upturned and her thumb pressed within the center. Averting her amber hues, she encouraged his digits to fan. “I know their tactics, their formations. While they are not above guerilla warfare, they are particularly conventional. I trust Thomas to carry out the orders flawlessly, but some of our men do not know the centaurs like I do.” She began. He knew what she was leading into, what she would ask and perhaps she already knew his answer. All the same, she spoke those words: “With your permission, you can send me out there and I can send that message  temporarily secure our roads. And when we begin to make port out of Lion’s Reach (I think that’s what it is called, can’t remember), we can promptly withdraw.” ----Her molten orbs swept upward. He knew that look; soft, but as resolute as her proposal. He knew her more than anyone ever did within those walls. She had been more than just a soldier. She did not like war, but she was good at it. She did not like brutality, but in the extreme it was necessary. “It would minimalize further retaliation. And our allies would greatly appreciate the assistance – I am certain we are not the only ones that have attributed damages, or accumulated victims.” A:   By the command of her encouraging fingers his splayed comforted by the warmth hers had to offer against his. Indeed he knew the exact trail she was looking to trek and just as obvious as she was so was he. The thickness of his brows pinched at their corners as he stared down to her with a measured look mapping every corner and slope of her mien. It was a look she was all too familiar with. “If I were a lesser man I’d command you to stay but I know better than that.” That half smirk found its way to his mouth once more coupled by the slow furling of his massive fingers over hers. The soft sound of his rough skin caressing against her fingers filled the space between them before he continued, all the while drawing her closer by furthering the grip of his hand at the small of her back. “No, you’re not wrong in the latter. How many men do you presume you’ll take with you or is this something you intend on executing by yourself?” Truth be told he truly did enjoy the image of her burning an entire Centaur village of her own accord. Unhinged and without restraint---she may not have enjoyed brutality but she was a herald of it in her own manner. S: She brought the opposing hand up to rest along the contour of his shoulder. His words elicited a charmingly wry smile, albeit short-lived. Sigrid had an odd definition for romance, but it made their dynamic nigh seamless, though they still had their moments and hiccups. They were both flawed individuals, but that was what made them so beautiful - at least in her mind. “Not many. With the right positioning, we could appear to be a larger force than we are. We may taint their water supply… ‘twould make it difficult to clean their wounds while the area burns. I only need archers and a handful of footmen – primarily Thomas’ specialists. We will maintain defenses and set up barricades along the roads trafficked heavily until the last have made it through and then we can dismantle and abandon them.” She surmised, concise.(edited)She need not justify anything to her better half, but she knew he preferred details and numbers; absolutes. It had been what had made them such an effective team, all things considered. She gave his hand a squeeze before the other ascended, cupping his grizzled jawline. She feigned to confess, but those twin emeralds always haunted her. They had seen much, eluding that he held far more knowledge than one might assume. “And I will return. As I always do. And I will bring them all back with me. You have my word.” A:  Settling a minute bit of weight within her cupped palm Argrin’s attention anchored to her embers, holding there for a long drawn moment before wordlessly lifting his hand from its placement at her spine. There he set his hand just behind her ear while his fingers laced about the fashion of her skull. Without preamble he leaned forward to close the space between them, pressing his lips to hers voraciously.   It was as if it was a caress laden  with the implication it would be their last despite her encouraging words. He held her close so much so that he turned her body into his; coiling her against him like a snake in a hold which signaled the mounting affection he sought to offer her.  Their lips lingered in connection for as long as she willed it and if and when their lips parted he offered rejoinder. “I know you’ll come back but that doesn’t lessen the concern I have whenever it is you leave. You are the most capable for this job.” A faint chuckle pressed from the back of his throat. “And one with the head for it. Take all the men you need, Thomas included. I will ensure you won’t hear complaint.” S:  The twin embers churned akin to warmed tree sap, threatening to encapsulate and imprison his reflection with in those intense orbs. There had always been something supernatural about them, how they scrutinized and seem to peer through. That was what placed Argrin above the rest – she could not see through him. He was transparent and bore himself wholly to her. It was why they had shared such a deeply rooted kinship. She moved fluidly in tandem, familiar as a waltz. Her calloused digits meandered to crest his crown, combing them through the raven locks and tangling them within her fist. Her lids waned to crescent. When first they had met, she was hard-pressed to even so much as sleep with her eyes closed. Then again, she had rarely found restful slumber. She had become comfortable in his presence – in fact, some parts of her nag that she was letting her guard down, but it was a voice oft stifled these days. A voice from another life time ago, another life style. He had shown her it was alright to be human, to be more than just a tool for country and faith. In fact, he had presented her with the most challenging feat in her life: Their daughter. He could feel her lips tighten into one of her trademark, frail smiles during their passionate exchange. She did not seem keen to pull away and eventually, when she did, it was only scantly. “I know. And you have every right to be worried. No amount of assurance will stop you from fretting and nor will I try to stop you. Fortunately… the excursion will not take long.” She afforded a pause, glancing down to his lips once more. The other hand had since travelled to pinch the fabric of his dress shit within its grasp and gradually it tightened.  “This will not be like Maguuma or the Crystal Desert. If plans go awry, we will adapt, or I will have our men fall back and pull out.” There was a timbre in her voice shy of a tremble, but it was only for a moment."Besides..." Her nose crinkled, accentuating the telltale laugh lines. "...'twould be a very bad time for me to die. There is too much work to do." A: “One would wonder what exactly it is you’d find yourself doing if there were no more work to be done.” He continued to hold her close, knowing full well her mind was well within the throes of readying a ‘to-do’ list. She was always the eager sort to start something straight away. “I dare say rest is a word that so rarely graces that tongue of yours. I wonder, does your back know the sensation as well? Or is that too a long forgotten memory?” Jest laced his words like a plague, a mannerism she was all too familiar with but one so rarely heard of these days given the tremendous efforts of running a House. In some respects he abhorred Othello for leaving him with this charge but as akin to his paramour and her proclivities with  upholding her duty so was he. Their daughter most of all needed a home in these trying times and they were fortunate enough that the Cress vaults were still stacked from floor to ceiling with cold and prospects---all of which would eventually fall unto her should she desire it. Despite anything else she was a Cress. “Will you leave by morning?” S:  Her gaze narrowed as the corners of her lips twitched, the smile threatening to broaden, but she feigned. She expressed faux offense, the blade of her tongue clicking along the roof of her mouth when following a deliberate hiss. “I sleep in… occasionally. Besides, what was it that you once told me?” She rejoined coolly, gently giving his bearded chin a playful tug.

 “Do as I say and not as I do? Hypocrites DO make the best teachers…” Her back did ache. She was not terribly old, but her bones begged to differ, particularly her spine. It was once rumored that they only thing holding the femme together was her armor. They both toiled ever so tirelessly, but when given the chance, they would not have it any other way. Her truncated tines brushed a few unruly tresses back securely behind his ear, the pallor mien softening.“Aye. The sooner ‘tis done, the cleaner. I will brief the men tonight … and speak to the wee rowan.” 

She rasped as she sighed through her nostrils. Maevis was mature for her age, but her mother’s absence previously had taken a toll on her as a toddler. While they were close, the girl had attributed similar characteristics as her mother when it came to distancing herself from others emotionally, even if she was eager to interact with them, akin to her father. Sigrid had been doing her best to remedy this folly, but it was difficult to undo what damage there had been done, if any had been rendered.

 Their work kept her busy, but at least in one spot now. It was a blessing and a curse. Fortunately, Argrin’s presence in her life has been the former, giving the rapidly growing child more structure. “The instructor has told me she is progressing nicely, but she has become increasingly flighty. She fears Maevis may falter in her studies eventually. She is… very intelligent. Mayhap she is becoming bored, but I fear she may not be sleeping well again.” 

A:  “And what better teacher is there within this world than I?” Argrin’s vibrato hummed down toward her sarcastically. He knew more than most that his teachings, whatever they were, were of the unconventional kind. At the mention of their kin the tense of his jaw drew amplified by a faint twitch---none of vexed connotation but one of mild concern.

 “Maevis is beyond her years. I fear that perhaps having her within the walls so commonly is having its effects on her.” He need no bring up Sigrid’s absence for it’d prove little to his point and he was well aware that she knew exactly of her absents effects. “With Balthazar dead the war efforts have dwindled but there’s still tension all about Kryta.” He settled her with another lingering stare, holding it for several passing moments as if plucking ideas from the ether before finally speaking.

 “Do you think she’d be happier within Divinities Reach? There’s a plethora of schools that may pique her interest. That and having a change of scenery may do her a world of good.” S:  Her gaze gradually averted, her features darkening. She seemed pensive, but his words held merit. “The temple host a myriad of teachings… and it would do her some good to be around children gifted similarly.” Maevis’ “gift” was not lost on either of them, though it did warrant some concern. Grenth had blessed her, as the priesthood would chirp much to the ire of the mother; a devout of Kormir. Grenth had his place amongst the pantheon as death had its’ role in the cycle. In fact, she would be hardpressed to say that perhaps she and the morose God had been a traveling companion for some time, never too far from her. It was a bittersweet acquiescence.

 “And… “ She exhaled a breath. “…she would have the chance to sample other cultures, learn more about the nations we share alliances with.” She spoke deliberately, as if to convince herself aloud that it was a sound ideal, but a part of her was hesitant, that much was discernable. Her brow then furrowed, humoring a thought. “Though, mayhap we should speak to her and ask her what ‘tis she would like before we ultimately decide to send her away anon. Tonight would be as good as any.” A:   As a man of Grenth there was hidden pride the moment Maevia was blessed with his holy word perhaps at the demise of his paramour. Nonetheless, Sigird wasn’t spared from an all knowing look offered down to her. One she would most definitely feel seeping beneath her armor and sinew. 

 “She is afforded the luxury of such a prospect.” He rumbled lowly, “And it’s one I wholly encourage given the state of most women of this House and bloodline. I’d abhor the idea that she would blame either of us for stunting whatever gifts she wishes to pursue.  I don’t desire her to stay here for an extended period of time for if I may speak candidly I feel as if that time has already come into effect.” He peered over Sigrid’s shoulder as if chasing a thought as another telltale implication on the matter was that of the subtle twinge his jaw made whenever he clenched it. 

 “Tonight.” The man parroted. “And if I may be so bold---“ That steely gaze settled back to her. “Perhaps I may hold your company tonight as well after our affairs have been conducted?” S: She elicited another soft sigh, this time in admonishment. Her own jaw became set as her lids waned to a close, bringing her brow to rest along his collar’s cynosure. Her arms had dropped to wrap about his midsection. Silence descended between the two, humored only momentarily, until she spoke with a rasp. “I know.” She confessed airily.

 Her breath flushed his breast. “You are right, mo stór, and that my fretting is for naught. We both know what she will say, but I want her to be a part of this decision. She cannot stay here, but I still worry. She has, unfortunately, inherited my inquisitive nature. At least she has a good head on her shoulders to keep her out of trouble.”Turning her head, her temple now braced the weave, peering once more out the window and out over the expanse beyond the edified walls. Once, they had been a prison. She did not want their daughter to experience the same demure, but it seemed each day the sun rose a tad brighter to kiss the aged mortar. It was a contrast to her earlier demeanor, but at least on the battlefield you knew your enemies wanted you dead. 

In Divinity’s Reach, wolves wore the skin of sheep. Upon his latter request, that frail smile crested once more. It was the same, familiar smile she gave to him all those years ago when first they had met – though it was oft followed by a rather incredulous rebuke or look. The amber hues swept askance before she rescinded incrementally to meet his gaze. “You needn’t ask, mo bhéar.” The Ascalonian vernacular was honeyed with a bubbling lilt.(edited) A:  Argrin found his gaze pinning to the crackling hearth across the way as his mind bubbled with a myriad of additional thought. With a manner of reluctance he pulled free from her only to set his hands at her waist and stare down to her in a manner she was all too accustomed to.

 “Where is she now?” At first he assumed she was within the libraries but that was an ideal long lost. Another was that she was already within her chambers but given her nature that too was wistful thinking. If anything her proclivity for going unnoticed was astounding for she could hide among the halls and go unnoticed. The ‘Little lady’ was but a trickster in her own merit for if she desired solace she truly was one to find it. “I wonder if we should coming baring an offering.” He teased. “Or five for that matter.” S:  A solitary brow arched, oft as it was prone to. Her termagant hues narrowed as she elicited a faux hiss betwixt the tiers of her teeth. “ONE is more than enough, ‘lest we ruin her appetite. By the by, with any luck, she is already down in the kitchen -” She mused dryly, hooking an arm to proffer a playful tug to his beard. It was true; their progeny was a tad difficult to account for had she the inclination to ‘spelunk’ down the disused corridors of the manor.

 She was not wont for company, but when she desired to be alone, she never truly seemed to be. When first her gift manifested, Sigrid had been frightened for the girl. No one seemed to know what illness had befallen little Maevis when she made a habit of wandering at night or screaming when she suffered a supposed night terror. It had been the primary drive to teach her to articulate better, be that through physical or verbal gesticulation. Now such incidents were rare, were they to happen at all.

When the raven-haired lass stopped to turn about and address an invisible visitor, not many questioned it, either. Rather than shun her sixth sense, the Grenth-touched prodigy had adapted it as a way of life. She could see things, individuals, that no one else could, but to her they were just fellow residents and staff within her home.However, the girl had started taken her ability to ‘disappear’ a bit too much for granted lately. 

Recently, they had caught her eavesdropping indiscreetly with her only response being: “I didn’t wanna open the door if you two were KISSING! That is GROSS!” Inhaling gradually, the knightly femme scantly canted her head indicatively toward the door, her octave rising. “-and NOT outside our DOOR because if she is, she will not be given ANY offerings!” Glancing askance over the cusp of her shoulder, she stared expectantly toward the yawn of the doorway. There was no answer, let alone the sound of shuffling feet. As the blade of her tongue clicked along the roof of her mouth, she hummed curiously. “In the kitchens she is, then.” A:  It wasn’t against Argrin’s nature to laugh but when Sigird turned her attention to the doorway a rather loving chortle petered from the back of his throat. If anything it caused a rather admiring look to befall the woman as she clicked that tongue along the roof of her mouth. In the moments which proceeded them Argrin made point in coiling his arms around her waist only to draw her close, leaning down he brushed the tip of his nose at her cheek to call her attention back to him.

 Once acquired he pressed their foreheads together---certainly not a gesture his daughter would have expected them to see if she were to happen upon them. No, there were no sensual gestures of theirs mouths molding together hotly. Instead, he allowed their spiritual minds to connect, a warm smile albeit succinct in nature had graced his mouth before finally releasing her from his grip. “What do you surmise this offering to be, hm? Something pragmatic or something not?” 

The heavy breach of his footfalls muffled against the carpet heralded his meander toward the door which was opened by another strained series of groaning hinges as he opened it, being polite enough to step aside as to allow her to exit first. He was, despite his nature, still a gentleman. “Perhaps a new horse? Do little ladies adore horses still?” S: As he leaned in, the sunlight kissed the top of his head to crest a halo. Their foreheads met, and her lids waned, though the prudent smile broadened gradually. A hand once more elevated to compliment the shallow dip of his cheek bone. They were connected by more than just oaths and companionate affiliation. They were a singular entity, entwined for this life time and perhaps others to come – were one to have such a belief. For, at least, Sigrid, they had just this one and it made their time on this earth more precious. Perhaps she should have more faith in her subordinates to carry out the mission, but she knew she would not rest easy. 

Those men and women were just as much as family and she wanted to ensure they came home, even if it meant she had to spend some time away. Mayhap… it will be the last time she would have to. They stood together in silence with only their breathing audible; a biological metronome. Until Argrin rescinded. Recollecting her poise, righting her posture, she humored the enquiry as she watched him near the door.

 Soon, she followed suit.Of course, pragmaticism was a virtue; she would rather gift books or clothes. Something utilitarian… though there might be some protest. If the Little Lady’s attentiveness was slipping, maybe something indulgent was called for considering her successful studies preceding. Something to keep her invested, encouraged, but not to create a habit. A horse might seem a bit much, but Maevis was of age to learn how to ride and it was a necessity, true. And yet… As she passed, she brushed her hand along the profile of his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze before stepping over the threshold. A chuckle bubbling within the hearth of her throat. “How about we start with dinner and go from there.” She mused.