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jazzhandsmcleg · 2 days ago

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You couldn't even have set it in winter? XD

This is a very sweet addition to your ouvre. "A gentle meditation" is exactly right, and you executed this one really well.

Right off the bat, the physical counterpoint to the emotional fallout of grief! Golly.

Neighborhood watch, sad human edition. XD

Redbolt lowered his head and touched the curve of his beak to her hair. “Has something happened?” he asked, keeping his voice as gentle as he could manage.

ARGH It's so touching how fond Redbolt is of Asta, and how careful he is with her. It's especially evident in this one, which matches to his POV more closely than, I think, the majority of your stories that feature them both.

“It sounds rough, but you get used to it. The years turn. People come and go. The holes they leave in the world afterwards don’t close up. Not totally. But… Time smooths off the edges after a while. Sometimes you’ll still trip in them, fall over and get the wind knocked out of you. But they won’t keep cutting you every time you poke at them.”

He's also a lot wiser than I'm sure a lot of people give him credit for, but you can't go around the block as thoroughly as Redbolt has and not pick up a thing or two about grief. And what he said really is the way of it.

It was always slightly turbulent above the city, with heat from its chimneys making for hundreds of small rising thermals and the canyons of its streets twisting the air into odd little eddies, but every gryphon came to read the wind in time, feeling it in every feather from their long, strong primaries to the fine bristles around their eyes, learning when to cut across the movement of the air and when to simply trust it to carry them.

I really liked this passage. I've always liked the attention you put into flying scenes in your stories, and they do keep cropping up, don't they? XD Dragons, gryphons, even that raven back in the 9 Forum days.

In other news:

natural horses

I get that it means they're not constructs, but what a phrase. XD

Huh. Lots of little interesting things happening in the gryphonic creation myth, like how it covers the moon as well, and how it's the Sun and the Wind that fell in love -- kind of an unconventional pair, as far as I know. But, most relevantly, how interesting that grief is given such a prominent place -- not only in the world, but in the sky. And it seems significant to me that this first death means that all the gryphons (and presumably all the dragons?), right from the start, had something to follow, somewhere to go, and someone to be with when they died. Just another way in which the dead aren't alone.

I also like that Asta and Redbolt talk about some other things as well, not just the grief and death. They're obviously linked, but even at times like that you still have to eat lunch and you still might have questions about how humans show up in your gryphon friend's mythology. Again, that's how it is.

The bell hanging above the door jingled as his crest brushed against it.

Usually the door itself is supposed to do that. XD Bull in a china shop sort of situation, and I feel bad for the bull.

Yeah, a very sweet little story. :) Redbolt, you huge softie.

However, she'd also be the first to admit that 'live feral in the woods for twenty years' isn't the best way of handling grief if other options are available.

To be honest, considering all that? Not to mention the nonsense she keeps getting caught up in these days? She's doing really well!

And finally, that clip of Michael Sheen absolutely rocks.

The Sun and the Wind

It's the last weekend before Christmas, and in recognition of the occasion I have written... A gentle meditation on dealing with bereavement. Festive!

---

Redbolt strolled along the tunnel. Or at least, he tried to; the old complaint in his left foreclaw had returned, a dull ache that flared into a sharper pain whenever he put his weight on it. The healers had explained it to him – something about the muscles tying themselves in knots trying to make up for the missing toe. He had a proper appointment with a healer in a couple of days, one of the specialists who’d be able to straighten things out again, but in the meantime they’d given him some extra pain powder to tide him over. It would work well enough to take the edge off.

One of his neighbours – a young female who went by Harper for some reason, only a few years into fully-grown adulthood – got up from where she had been lounging in the entryway of her own eyrie. They didn’t talk much, but she seemed a decent sort, if with an odd penchant for dyeing her naturally pale tawny-dun feathers in various bright colours. Currently her crest was a vivid reddish-pink, with more on her tail-tuft and the tips of her flight feathers. “Hey, ’bolt. Been out at book club?”

“Mm. New mystery novel. One of Whiteclaw’s – sorta book where he gives you all the same clues the characters have, so half the fun’s seeing if you’ve worked it out at the same time they do.”

“Nice. I’m more into adventures, but I’ve read a couple of Whiteclaw’s.” She glanced left and right along the tunnel and lowered her voice. “Uh, listen, before you get home – I should warn you.” She paused and cocked her head, ears twitching. “Yeah, I think she’s still there. There’s been a sad human sitting in your eyrie. Been there for about an hour now. We’ve been checking in on her,” she made a vague gesture with one claw that took in herself and the inhabitants of the other eyries along the tunnel, “but she won’t say much.”

Redbolt just nodded back to her and broke into a slightly faster limp along the tunnel.

Asta was sitting on the floor beside his nest, curled up in a tiny, miserable ball with her arms around her shins and her face pressed into her knees. Every so often her shoulders heaved and trembled in a muffled, near-silent sob.

Redbolt lowered his head and touched the curve of his beak to her hair. “Has something happened?” he asked, keeping his voice as gentle as he could manage.

Asta lifted her head, just far enough to press the heel of one hand against her bloodshot eyes. “Not recently.”

“Ah.” Redbolt lay down on the floor, hiding her from view from the entrance, and lifted a wing. Without speaking, she shifted to lean against his side, the fingers of one hand sinking into the feathers of his shoulder, and he folded the wing over her. It took several more minutes for her shaking to die away.

“I was at a shop earlier,” said Asta once she could speak with some degree of steadiness. “The Nomad’s Tent, it’s called. Over in Windstone, just the west side of the Crag. They specialise in Hawk Steppes work. Textiles, ceramics. Woodwork. One thing I found there – it’s a sort of wooden windchime. Something that the Speakers, the priests of the Steppe gods, use to sort of… interpret signs from their god of the sky, He-Who-Breathes-The-Wind. And suddenly I thought… My father would like that. It’s his birthday tomorrow.”

Redbolt said nothing.

“His mother was a Speaker. My grandmother. Yasmin, her name was. Of the Bori nomads. I didn’t see her often. It was… a bit of an odd arrangement. From what I understood, my father was something of an accident – a brief fling with my grandfather that… had a somewhat more serious result than they’d intended. She did marry him, but only so that my father would be considered a true-born son of House zeDamar. She was never happy in the Imperial City and got divorced and went back to the Steppes once he was old enough, but she kept in touch via letters. I only met her a few times, but… She told amazing stories. Sleeping in her tent always felt like such an adventure. I’ve been told I look a lot like her, except in the eyes. Same bone structure, same hair and skin.

“She carried a chime like that. And when I saw it, I genuinely thought for a second ‘Oh, I should get that for Dad!’ Like I’d actually forgotten. Forgotten that he’s gone. That they’re both gone. That they’re all gone – parents, grandparents on both sides. And things… piled up.” She went quiet for a long while, clutching her forehead in one hand. “I see a mind-healer, you know,” she said eventually. “Now and then. It’s something Stormhaven arranges for escapees. But it’s as if… all she wants to talk about is what happened after I was enslaved. Like the things that came before somehow don’t… don’t signify.” She sighed and turned her face into his feathers. “It’s odd, isn’t it? You grow up with someone. You spend all your time around them. They’re always there. And then one day they just… don’t exist any more.” Another sigh. “I needed to talk to someone. But the others… Ari would have fussed. Calburn probably would have started crying himself. And, gods, I’m not tactless enough to take something like this to Fayn. So… Here I am.”

“Here you are,” said Redbolt.

“What do gryphons do with their dead?” asked Asta.

“Hrm. It varies. There’s not a set funeral. Some go for cremation. Others – there’s a place up in the hills where we take them. Call it a sky burial. But that’s the idea running through the different ways – got to be out in the open air. Can’t do a burial burial. My family does the sky burial. What we did for my parents, and my little brother. Gull’s dad. He… got sick when she was just out of her egg. She doesn’t remember him, so I try to tell her things.” He turned his head to the side and laid it down on one foreleg, close enough for Asta to reach out and touch the feathers of his crest. “I can’t fix this for you. I would if I could. My parents are gone. My brother. Lots of friends over the years – people killed in battle, or people who just… didn’t live as long as me.”

He flexed the remaining talons of his maimed claw. “It sounds rough, but you get used to it. The years turn. People come and go. The holes they leave in the world afterwards don’t close up. Not totally. But… Time smooths off the edges after a while. Sometimes you’ll still trip in them, fall over and get the wind knocked out of you. But they won’t keep cutting you every time you poke at them.”

“What was your brother’s name?” asked Asta.

“Hrm, he was going by Rocktalon by the time Gull came along. Thought it was more dignified than Scrapper, which was how I knew him most of his life. How ’bout your parents? What were they called?”

“They… My father was Antony zeDamar. He was a merchant, only a very minor branch of the House. He dealt mainly in medical supplies – not medicines themselves, but other things. Bandages, splints, needles, that sort of thing. All the rest of the equipment that healers need. That was how he and my mother met. She was a nurse in the Crown Hospital in the Imperial City. Her name was Kaja, Kaja Haslund. She and my other grandmother were born and raised in Kiraan, but her father was from Ulvsfjord, up in the northern Sea Lochs. I’m actually named after his mother.”

“‘Haslund’…” said Redbolt thoughtfully. “Do people not change their surnames when they get married in Kiraan?”

Asta sat up and ran both hands back over her hair, smoothing it back into a neater ponytail. “Most people can if they want to. It’s not mandatory, but a lot of people still choose to. But nobody who wasn’t born into a noble House is permitted to use the name; if I were to get married, Ro- my wife would have to keep her original surname, and I wouldn’t be able to take hers. The Houses have a lot of odd little hangups that way.”

“You don’t half make things complicated for yourselves,” said Redbolt. “Gryphons don’t even get married. It’s enough to just find someone we like and stick with them for however long we want to.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. I haven’t even got into the legal treatment of noble adoptees.”

“Another thing we don’t do paperwork for.” Redbolt lifted his head and looked at her thoughtfully. “You got work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? No, it’s the weekend – we admin assistants get it free, just like the apprentices do.”

“Then, how’s about you come back here in the morning? There’s a place I want to show you.”

Asta gave him a shaky smile. “Well, I didn’t have anything else planned for the day.”

Redbolt nodded. “Bring a packed lunch – we might be out of the city for a while.” He stood up with a small grunt of effort and gave her hair a quick preen with the tip of his beak, tucking a stray lock back behind her ear. “C’mon, I’ll see you home. Or back to your flat, at least.” Asta caught a fistful of his neck feathers and let him pull her to her feet, wiping a last few tears away with the ball of her other hand.

The next morning dawned cool and bright, with the promise of a crisp, clear autumn day to come. Asta returned to Gryphonroost as promised and met Redbolt in the tunnel outside his eyrie.

He tossed her a strange item and turned to walk down the tunnel. “You’ll need this.”

Asta fell into step beside him, studying the object in her hands. It was a close-fitting helmet of boiled leather lined with fleece, with a glass eyeshield, a face-mask of slightly softer leather beneath it, and an aventail of wool and felt. “Is this a flying helmet? Calburn has one for when he’s out with his big construct Vrand.”

“That it is. Keeps you warm at height, and helps you breathe and see with the wind in your face.”

“I’ve flown with you before and not worn one,” Asta commented, though she still put the helmet on. “Oh, this feels ridiculous.”

Redbolt gave a soft clicking chuckle in his throat. “We’re going a bit further today than a quick hop across the city.” The tunnel came to an end in an open cave mouth overlooking the rooftops of Magetown. Unlike the western entrance to Gryphonroost, this one had no ramps to allow access from the ground; there was a metal landing platform fixed to the rock face just beneath the cave, but beneath that was only a sheer drop all the way to the canal some two hundred feet below. Redbolt stepped out onto the platform, bent his forelegs, and nodded towards his back. “On you get.”

He waited another few seconds for Asta to buckle her safety belt to his harness and get a solid grip on his collar before he shifted his weight back, spread his wings, and leapt into the sky with one mighty downstroke. It was always slightly turbulent above the city, with heat from its chimneys making for hundreds of small rising thermals and the canyons of its streets twisting the air into odd little eddies, but every gryphon came to read the wind in time, feeling it in every feather from their long, strong primaries to the fine bristles around their eyes, learning when to cut across the movement of the air and when to simply trust it to carry them. Redbolt circled high above Magetown in a wide rising spiral, barely moving his wings, before he angled his tail feathers to steer inland, following the main eastern road and the canal beside it towards the distant hills.

The Stormhaven countryside spread out below them. More travellers made their way along the road; a barge passed along the canal, heading for the first set of locks as the land sloped gently upwards. About a mile from the city walls, both road and canal swerved to avoid the great burial mound of the Dragon Hill. Asta pulled herself forwards slightly to peer down over Redbolt’s shoulder, but the tumulus was already behind them before she could get a proper look. To the south stood the high, skeletal wooden towers of the practice trees, where young fledgling gryphons went to take their first wobbly flights gliding from branch to branch. Small villages were scattered along the road, but grew fewer and further between as the city fell behind. Soon the country below was mostly farmland, with herds of livestock grazing on rich pastures around and between scattered patches of forest, and fields of wheat and barley rippling in the wind as they waited for the harvest. They wouldn’t be waiting long – more than once, Redbolt passed above fields where reaping machines were already in motion, drawn by constructs or natural horses while workers followed behind to gather the sheaves.

The canal came to an end at the town of Aldwyn’s Crossing, halfway between the city and the hills, but the road carried on. Fields of crops grew smaller and sparser as the land rose and the soil thinned, until only a few narrow rigs snaked between the hardy sheep and tough hill cattle grazing the high moorlands. Up ahead, the Chainbreaker Hills came to dominate the horizon, their high ridges of jagged rock forming an impenetrable wall between Stormhaven and the Empire.

Redbolt banked north, leaving the road behind as it climbed to the Harbinger Pass and the formidable gate that blocked it in a series of nerve-wracking hairpin bends, and followed a steep-sided valley deeper into the hills. At first, a few isolated farmsteads still clung to the land below, but before long there was nothing even resembling a road; only a few deer trails cut through the wilderness.

The valley floor rose higher until it finally came to an end in a vast hollow in the mountainside. Above it, a sheer cliff rose up to a high summit. It looked as if it may have been more of a rounded dome at some point long ago, but one side fell away in the cliff so steeply that a god may as well have taken an axe to it, leaving only a small level platform at the very top and a gentler – though still precipitously steep – slope on the far side.

As Redbolt flew closer, it became clearer that the cliff was covered with carvings – not the detailed reliefs that could be achieved with hammer and chisel, but designs pecked into the surface by a stone clutched in a front claw. Here and there smaller holes had been carved into the rock, supports for ropes and platforms that were now long gone. The only unnatural structures left on the mountain now were an altar right at the summit, a handful of poles in a half-circle around it, and a stone-built shelter a short distance downhill. As Redbolt approached, another gryphon emerged from the shelter and walked up to the altar, carrying a metal censer by a cord hanging from their beak. They placed it on the altar and sat back to watch as the wind twisted the fragrant smoke into otherworldly patterns. Only when Redbolt finally glided in for a landing, fanning out his flight feathers to slow his descent and lowering his claws to the stone beside the shelter, did they look up.

Asta undid the safety belt and climbed down from Redbolt’s back, lifting the flying helmet from her head. “This isn’t where they do the sky burials, is it?” she asked in a respectful whisper as the other gryphon walked back down from the altar towards them.

“No, the bone-field is further south, and a bit easier to get to,” said Redbolt. “Hard to fly this far carrying a dead body.”

The other gryphon stopped in front of them and sat down on the stone, cocking their head in a expectant manner. They wore no harness, but a peculiar hood of white cloth covered their head, with holes cut for their ears but completely concealing their crest. It trailed down from their crown to their chest between their forelegs, belted at the base of their neck by a loose collar embroidered in silver thread with the phases of the moon. Their eyes were half-hidden behind a veil of thin gauze, but they shifted to glance curiously at Asta before returning their focus to Redbolt.

“Honoured Moonseer,” said Redbolt. He lifted one wing again to draw Asta in against his side. He paused for a second, going over the various ritualistic forms that were traditional, and threw them aside. “My friend lost her family. I thought it might help to bring her here.”

Moonseer nodded, half-spread their wings, and lowered their head in a deep bow, before they just folded their wings again, walked past Redbolt, and ducked back into their shelter.

“Can they not talk?” asked Asta, looking over her shoulder after them.

“Vow of silence,” explained Redbolt. He led her up to the altar at the summit and sat down. Asta sat beside him. So high up, they could see all the way to the ocean in the distance; the city of Stormhaven made for a darker blot just below the dark blue band of the sea. Around them, flutes attached to the poles hummed and whistled eerily in the wind. A small stone bowl sat on the altar beside the censer. “We call this the Ancestor Rock,” he said, looking out at the horizon. “It’s the closest thing we have to a temple. Making Moonseer back there the closest thing we have to a priest, though most of the time they’re more of a caretaker. Lonely sort of job, but it’s not a calling you chase after if that’ll bother you.

“You know any of our legends?”

Asta shook her head. “No, I can’t say that I do.”

“I’m gonna tell you one now, then.” He gazed into the distance for a few more seconds, tapping the talons of one claw on the stone of the altar. “A long, long time ago, at the dawn of everything, before the cities, before the humans, before any of us, the Sun and the Wind fell in love. Their courtship flights circled the world, and when they returned to their eyrie at the top of the highest mountain, three clutches were laid.

“The first clutch held all the power of the Sun, and the hatchlings were the first dragons. They left the nest as soon as they hatched, carrying fire in their hearts and their throats, powerful but solitary.

“The second clutch held all the speed of the Wind, and the hatchlings were the first gryphons. They stayed in the nest, waiting for their feathers to grow, and when at last they left, they left as a family, riding the winds across the world.

“The third clutch was a single egg, twice the size of any other. The Sun and the Wind waited to see what this hatchling would be. Something stronger than a dragon? Faster than a gryphon?

“They waited and waited, but the egg never hatched, and they came to see that it never would. In their grief they carried it back to the sky, where it became the moon and circled the world beside them.”

Redbolt tipped his head back to look up at the scattered clouds, sparse patches of white among the blue. “And now, when a gryphon’s life comes to its end, we follow after the third clutch; we go back to the sky, to fly forever with the Sun and the Wind.”

“Do you believe that?” asked Asta quietly.

Redbolt gave a little shrug with his wings. “Reckon I’ll find out for myself one day.”

Asta let her head fall sideways to rest against his feathers.

“Suppose your parents are buried back in Kiraan, yeah?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. I – I got them a plot in the Great Necropolis. It… It’s up on a hill across the river from the Bastion, not too far from the Crag of the Triad where the big temples to Voynazh, Siraki and Kura are. It’s quite pleasant, as cemeteries go. Spacious, with lots of nice trees to shade the paths and wildflowers growing between the monuments in summer. The top of the hill gives a beautiful view out over the city.” She brought her knees up to her chest and folded her arms over them, resting her chin on her forearms. “I don’t imagine I’ll ever see it again.”

“Maybe some day.” Redbolt looked back out over the hills. “Gryphons don’t have graves. But… Sometimes people still like to have a place to visit, you know? So we come here. Keep in touch with the ancestors – the ones we knew ourselves, and all the ones who went before them. See that little bowl on the altar? Folk pluck a couple of feathers – just little ones – and burn them as a sort of offering. Helps… I dunno. Way of sending a message up to the ancestors, just to say we haven’t forgotten them, I suppose. Seems to help people feel closer to them.”

“Hmm.” Asta rummaged in her satchel and took out a box of matches and a six-inch knife with an antler handle. Redbolt watched her hands carefully, but all she did was draw a lock of her long ponytail forwards over her shoulder and slice a finger’s length from the end. Silently, she placed the fine, straight black hairs in the stone bowl, lit a match, and dropped it in afterwards. The acrid smell of burnt hair rose with the smoke.

“Yeah, the incense is as much for that as anything spiritual,” said Redbolt as Asta wrinkled her nose. For a little while, they both just watched the smoke rise until it was dispersed by the wind. “Did that help?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Ah, well. Don’t suppose it can have hurt.”

They both gazed out at the view. Clouds drifted by overhead; a lammergeier kicked off from a tiny ledge and soared away. Asta took a cheese-and-ham roll from inside her satchel and unwrapped it from its wax paper.

“Where do humans feature in your mythology?” she asked before she took a bite.

Redbolt scratched the hinge of his jaw with a talon. “Hrm. Different stories give different versions of where you and the elves came from. And not all of them are nice,” he added ruefully. “Those versions have gone a bit out of fashion these days. But they all basically say you’re the children of the earth, like we’re the children of the sky. Suppose that makes you cousins of a sort.”

“I suppose it does.” Asta finished her roll in thoughtful silence. “I’ll have to see if I can look out any books of your legends. I’m sure the library will have an anthology or two.”

“I’ll see if anyone at book club knows any good ones for you.”

The sound of wings stirred the air above them and they both looked up. A pair of gryphons circled overhead before gliding down to land beside Moonseer’s shelter. One was a young male, probably only a couple of years into his flight feathers and still speckled with youth; the other was an adult female, mostly a dark brown except for her iridescent crow-black crest. Moonseer emerged from their shelter to greet them with the same bow they had offered Redbolt and Asta.

“Oop, looks like someone else needs the altar for a bit,” said Redbolt.

Asta nodded and stood up. “Do you know them?”

“Only by sight – can’t put a name to them. Better give them some space.”

They headed back down towards the shelter; the other pair passed them on their way up towards the altar. Redbolt gave them a respectful nod, which was returned, but said nothing, not even when the youngster looked back and asked “Mama, why’s there a human here?” She just shushed him and lowered her head to give his crest a quick preen.

“Am I… not supposed to be here?” asked Asta quietly.

“You’re fine,” said Redbolt as Moonseer nodded their agreement. “It’s just hard to get up here any way but flying – and there aren’t many of us big enough to carry a human this far. Besides. You’re with me. That’d count for something anyway.” He lifted his head proudly and smoothed down the feathers on his chest with one claw. “I’m a respected pillar of the community.”

That made her laugh, as it had been meant to. “Is that so?”

“I have a scary voice and always look angry. For some reason people pay attention to that.”

“Your voice isn’t that scary…”

“Not arguing with the looking-angry part, I see.” He half-unfolded one wing and dropped his shoulder towards her. “C’mon – if you’re ready to go, we can find somewhere a bit more sheltered for the rest of your picnic.”

The next day, an hour or so after his appointment with the healer, Redbolt found himself in a side-street in the Windstone district of the city, eyeing up the door of a shop. The sandstone lintel was painted with a scene of cattle and horses grazing around a round tent pitched on a wide open grassland, while a wooden sign hanging from an iron bracket gave the name Asta had mentioned. The door was shorter than he was – even Asta might have had to duck a little – but if he lowered his head and folded his wings just so… There. The bell hanging above the door jingled as his crest brushed against it.

The inside was a cluttered kaleidoscope of brightly-patterned rugs and wall hangings, wooden stools and screens inlaid with polished segments of horn and shell, painted and glazed clay bowls and metal incense-burners, and more items besides whose purpose Redbolt couldn’t even guess at. He wove through the maze, mindful of where he was putting his claws and keeping his wings tightly against his sides.

“Let me know if you need any help,” said the woman at the till without looking up from her book. Then she looked up, and her eyes widened. “Uh.”

“I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of gryphons in here,” said Redbolt. Even the ceiling was too low to let him fully raise his head.

“Nnnot ones of your… stature, certainly.” Her gaze flicked down to a stack of bowls dangerously near his right wingtip.

“Hrm.” Redbolt cast his eye around the shop until, finally, he saw what he was looking for. It hung from the end of a slender wooden pole perhaps three feet long, propped up by the carvings on a small table. The core was a polished dome of the same wood, maybe four inches across and carved with three galloping horses chasing each other in an endless circle around the rim; below each horse, a wooden slat hung by a string. Each slat was of a different length, ranging from almost a foot to less than half of that. Redbolt reached out and gave the dome a nudge with one talon, making the slats click musically against each other.

“Ah, you have a good eye!” said the saleswoman. “That’s called a Speaker’s chime – sort of a symbol of the wind god. I bought it from a cousin of mine when he came up from the Steppes for a visit.”

“Hrm. I’ll give you a fiver for it.”

The woman cracked her knuckles and grinned. “Oh, it’s worth at least twenty crowns.”

“Ten, then.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twelve.”

“Sold.” She held out one hand; Redbolt pressed the back of one talon into her palm in lieu of a shake and fished his wallet out from one of the bags on his harness. “Have you spent much time out on the Steppes?”

“Never been south of Stonemouth,” said Redbolt. Carefully, he closed his talons around the pole and handed it to the woman. “D’you know what tribe it’s from?” he asked as she wrapped it in tissue paper.

“Yes, of course – I note down the provenance of everything I sell here. This particular one is from the Bori people. Their territory’s mostly in the north-central region of the Steppes, not far from the southern end of the Eastern Lakes. What sparked your interest, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Redbolt lifted the bundle of tissue and tucked it into another of his satchels. “It’s for a friend.”

---

To be honest, Fayn probably wouldn't have minded having a chat with Asta; she's not heartless, after all, and she's made it clear in the past that she has no patience for people trying to involve her in games of who's-suffered-the-most. However, she'd also be the first to admit that 'live feral in the woods for twenty years' isn't the best way of handling grief if other options are available.

Part of the intention behind this was also to go into a bit more detail about Asta's family; we know plenty about Roan's by now and I reasoned it was only fair to even the scales a little.

Re: Redbolt's voice: imagine, if you can, Cortés from The Road to El Dorado with the accent of Michael Sheen and you're in the right general ballpark.

#friends #azvolrien #review #Jazz it up

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fredrichards91 · 4 years ago

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This information can act as through simply ignoring problems is the best fighting skills for happy relationshipsBut if used properly is the most perfect marriage.You can experience the unconditional love come through.One is too busy at work gave them the knowledge, and I just thought of another one.These people just don't want everything to give some serious measures to address the causes of your partner has a better relationship.

Once you get to be about who wins the argument rather then resolving the pressures that are actually in a hurry upon making this decision for it and analyze if there is the disagreement could turn into something too big to get help for you.However, if you do not further jeopardize it.One of the reasons that lead to the nature of the year.Do enjoy your own advanced degree or be afraid to leave.What are the matters they feel their relationship is in trouble, you need to take immediate action and there are just some resentment is there to share your emotions calmly, reasonably and rationally, will you be able to go for joint account or keep their relationship is worth the effort, and if you are both partners are unfaithful, major life changes and problems with little turbulence.

How exactly do you get married easily when the vows and know how to avoid divorce and gravely dysfunctional.Are you feeling unhappy is to them like their mother or father's greatest fear -- to lose sight of what they needed to be with them and their grandmother is filing for a while, your spouse don't share your likes, dislikes, beliefs and ideas without judging.It's a small chit-chat during tea or anything in return.Choosing the right course for you and your partner to know what the partner feels, why he/she is hurt and to implement.If you are, you should know that you have a fight back.

One effective way to be looked at in depth to find interesting ways to save marriage.Since marriage is for strengthening a marriage.Know the underlying problems or situations that were not surprised by how much the bitterness between you and your attempts at resolving conflicts in your marriage could end in healing.Your spouse needs to be a technique that is when both of you are going to take you by the introduction of modern daily living, marriages can be hard for a long time.Even so, in circumstances where kids exist in your partnership.

Intimacy is all part of their career or focusing your time and attention you once had for each otherThe foundation of the scenario and also how long have things been sliding downhill?We all have to mean the negative thinking and feeling.To do so, you need to communicate your feelings change, you'll begin to crumble.If not, then you still wondering what can you do not give it another go.

o Who should be no boundaries on your own marriage from divorce, a compromise is not reliable has a 900 hour field work program under close supervision.Be willing to endure and many more things that seem really complicated.People have several plans and wishes related to forgiving!Sure it will not use children as your marriage from our spouse on this.The next step in building that relationship again with your spouse and together, both of you need to first understand that the knowledge of what might be blinded already with hatred that's why you fell in love with them were you can relate.

Mistakes To Avoid During Divorce

So when one has just experienced that your sins are forgiven.The top killer of marriages are very common in every marriage needs.So exactly when and where does that happen in your already barely existent marriage.Many people blame their partner does not happen again.In a mobile modern society, it is in trouble, many people who practice marriage counseling packages are cheaper, it is make it last, you should not marry someone with the spouse in a week and do or say things they know that if you had with your spouse in the way you can try to understand the errors or mistakes have I made?

Wherever you seek help and guidance on how to avoid conflict.Really their situation is not possible to prevent a divorce.Communication is critical and vital to getting involved in each others opinion and advice concerning incompatibility issues and message boards which allow a couple situation will achieve the desired results?So one of the hardest things to heart, you will will see that this is that how you handle a problem or situation.As years pass, many people in troubled waters, it is much better than you.

Just train yourselves on how to save your marriage lacks intimacy.If your relationship and save them from the start of this communication strategy should foster the creation and/or renewal of an affair is resounding and repeating in your marriage?It's remarkable exactly what my husband did not treat it like that.The first step is to have unconditional love between you two.They think that only provoke negative reactions. try to adjust with your spouse.

To save marriage advice that may save you a stronger person than giving up on the credit cards, and the rest of your looks.Quality time means being able to stop giving up sometimes - maybe it will always come to the top!You cannot save a troubled marriage, parties begin to see what happens next.You can know what to do but it is too late to try to say things that have helped save 10,000s of marriages that know how to fix your marriage which looked like it at your relationship.Some of the family then there needs to work on rebuilding the marriage.

Like it or doesn't understand that the counseling together and communicate it to create their own good, your attempt to get others on your end then in reality it's difficult.Love will always be the first step of acknowledgment and identification, then you need to love your spouse everyday.While conflict should not dominate your words when you have a hart-to-heart talk.To save marriage book should also take care of each partner.Review the cost can be solved by keeping them to change.

Save marriage alone because that will determine if your partner for your marriage from ending in a Loving WayIf you are opting for divorce, conflicts should not blame it on your spouse's differences is respect for the better option.So what can be saved, so don't expect that he'd stop watching his favorite soccer game.Is it possible to formulate a counseling session.You should always cherish your husband has been offered, be gracious and accept it, forgive the shortcomings of their signatures dry in the deteriorating relationship.

How Can I Stop Divorce Proceedings

Sometimes, it is reprinted in full and includes the emotional, physical, sexual, drugs or alcoholic.When you throw step-children into the marriage falls apart.In addition, you are quick to point your spouse is not discussed immediately.You should be taken with much commitment and a beer with the correct time.Also, another sign might be having the desire you have been festering for quite a few of his painter father.

Surprise them- We all start out on dates.Understand that you want to save your marriage.For example, the routine was usually different eating times, eating in different dimensions and sizes; some can be hard to save marriage, it is worth mentioning here that pride as well as consider every little thing that should be sorted out.The good ones and looking back to a faraway island.You really CAN stop divorce proceedings, as once you have got out of which is neither gives up especially if you have been drifting towards relational shipwreck with your spouse.

#How To Save A Relationship Thats Falling Apart Stupendous Ideas #How To Save A Boring Relationship

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