when you've gone about things all wrong,

[faithlikeaseed]

WHO: Myr + YOU! (With starters for Herian, Vandelin, and Newt.)
WHAT: Bees, glyphs, knight-enchanting, just plain Chant(ing), and other things relevant to Myr's interests
WHEN: Early to mid-Solace
WHERE: All around the Gallows & Kirkwall
NOTES: Will be added as needed!

i. when the day begins to break // the Gallows courtyard

With the height of Kirkwall's summer cresting hot and muggy, Myr's made even more effort to confine his conditioning to the early morning hours. He's up and out before dawn to run laps of the prayer garden (much smaller than the courtyard, but fewer people there and the obstacles don't change day to day); after that, staff-sparring or grappling with whoever might be about, or barring a live opponent, a session with one of the dummies.

Then, magic: Today, he bends all his focus to a knight-enchanter's disruption field, throwing a rippling bubble of slowed time over a secluded corner of the courtyard. A footstep overheard, a voice--at the sound of someone approaching he'll toss a sunny smile their way, and a request: "If you've got a moment, d'you mind stepping inside there? Promise it's harmless; you'll just slow down a bit."

ii. in the things & the way they could have been // the library

Thursday evening, Chant discussion group. In light of recent concerns over the rifters, Myr'd opened the floor to talk of spirits--something he'd never have done on his own, uncomfortable as he is on the subject, if it hadn't felt like an inspired necessity. Tonight's discussion lingered long over Senior Enchanter Baden's treatise, with particular attention to how mankind's darkest desires intertwined with with the spirits' needs to lead them both into destruction. Not an easy topic to cover, not by a long shot, but--there was no true acrimony behind any of the arguing and no one had stomped off in a huff this time, so it went well enough.

Thus it's with a quiet sense of relief that he lingers as the rest of the group files out; he's usually the last to go, since it's his pledge to the archivists that gets them the study room every week and they expect the door locked when it's not in use. But today especially he needs a little bit of extra time to process what's been said and tuck it away--

Though he'll not be averse to anyone who wants to talk a little more privately on anything that came up in discussion.

iii. don't forget son when he's out on his own // Kirkwall alienage

Like many city elves born to the alienages, Myr's no precise idea when his nameday falls in the year. "Mid-Solace" is the closest he remembered from the little celebrations his father and Ben threw for him; he'd chosen the fifteenth himself much later out of a love of symmetry. (That it happened to coincide with the nameday of the comely Imayn--whose eye he'd been striving to catch at the time--was a nice bonus.) It had since stuck there, celebrated informally in Hasmal's Circle right up to the year of the rebellion.

After that--

After that he hadn't felt much like celebrating another year's survival, nor had anyone else. It still feels a little wrong to do so, even though the Inquisition's been a boon in other ways--but it is his thirtieth and that requires something to mark it.

He brings honeycomb and wildflowers to offer at the vhenadahl, that little bit of paganry even his father embraced. (The Maker, Iolan had said, had made the People as they were and given them to the lives they now led; He would not begrudge them their traditions, so long as it drew their hearts back to Him in the end.) He kneels at the foot of the great tree to make his gift of them; remains there, after, in quiet prayer to the Maker and His Bride, asking guidance for the coming year.

And then, as quietly: "I hope you can hear me, Dad. I know the Chantry says otherwise--but you'd always believed the Maker kinder than that, and I want to, too."

iv. wildcard

(Surprise me! Or hit me up on Plurk or Discord if you'd like a specific starter.)

Comments

i write you in this letter that states scratched through // Vandelin

[faithlikeaseed]

They'd been talking on and off about writing home, exploring the idea in careful steps together now that they could. Not that it had been forbidden, precisely, back in the Circle--but it was no secret all correspondence between mages and their families was read. And after one letter in particular had given the Circle's leadership ammunition to keep the two of them in line--

Or maybe it was collective heartbreak over Iolan's death, and having no one else to write to who wasn't solidly under Vardren's thumb, but either way it had come about they'd stopped sending their letters home. Hadn't stopped writing them, though, not for a long time, which is why the stack of yellowing folded parchment Myr's brought with him to Vandelin's door is so thick; it's not only his own unsent letters, but everything he could rescue from his cousin's quarters as well before they were taken apart by the rest of Hasmal's loyalists. (Would that he could have saved more, though his own anger wouldn't let him at the time.)

He knocks on Van's door--listens a moment--then lets himself into his cousin's quarters. "I hope," he says cheerily, "you really did get snacks because I expect we'll be a while about this. Here," he digs the packet of correspondence out of his satchel and offers it Van's direction, "this is for you to go through, first."

[misdirection_hex]

"Of course I have snacks," says Van, sounding faintly offended (he isn't really, not truly, but of course he got snacks. Northern snacks, all grease and cheap protein and too much seasoning, a taste of home to match what they're dwelling on.)

He stands aside to let Myr make himself at home, the neatly-made bed piled with pillows to get comfortable among, and takes the offered stack of letters. It surprises him with its heft. He narrows his eyes, momentarily uncomprehending, as he flips through the addresses and dates, the words in his own hand to friends and lovers he'd never even told Myr about--

"You went and found these?"

[faithlikeaseed]

Seeing as how it’s Van’s quarters and there’s no standing on formality with family, Myr makes a beeline for the bed. (It’s also less likely to have moved than any of Van’s chairs.) He settles on the edge long enough to shed his boots and set his staff in reach before tucking his feet under him in a position that looks thoroughly uncomfortable (and isn’t). Some things don’t change.

Other things do—like the way Myr hesitates before replying a question that needs only a self-evident “yes, of course I would, I always would.” He had gone and found them but what Van’s really asking is why—and why hurts a little, still.

“They could still be delivered, I thought,” he says finally, quietly. “And even if I was angry at you it didn’t mean I didn’t want—something to remember you by. They’re my history, too—some of them.”

in graver mistakes // Newt

[faithlikeaseed]

Owing to safety concerns--for the bees as well as the Gallows' residents--Myr'd planned to move his hives from the Gallows gardens come spring. And he had, with a little help from his Inquisition friends, relocating them to a "safe" bit of Sundermount within sight of Kirkwall's walls. With the addition of another swarm captured shortly after the move, there's three hives now, content and prosperous and buzzing busily away at the business of honeymaking.

It's Myr's practice to visit them every few days, to check their health and assess the honey stores; so he's out today, humming to himself as he removes the top of the Orlesian-style hive to get at the frames. A murmured word sets into motion a spell to keep the bees calm with all the goings-on, while another two call up magic to detect moths or--worse--robber bees (which would be a poor omen for the season indeed). Not that he expects his own hives to have gotten so out of parity with each other, but there'd been rumors of late-season swarms about, and one of them might've settled nearby...

A swarm in Solace might not be worth a horse's ass, as the old rhyme goes, but he makes a note to himself anyhow to investigate the possibility once he's done with his current task.

[somethingwild]

Newt very much enjoys whenever he can escape the city of Kirkwall proper. He's grateful for Sundermount nearby, as well as the various beaches and mountains. He'll take whatever bit of nature he can, wherever he can find it.

And Thedas is filled with so many very interesting bits of nature.

He's out today after a morning spent working with a staff. Or attempting to, anyway; the various bruises all across his face tell the story of just how that particular training session went, as does the way he walks with a slight limp from hitting himself one too many times in the ankle.

He's meandering just outside of the city when he happens across a familiar face tending to what appear to be bees. He brightens considerably, making his way right over without a thought to the pain in his ankle or his face.

"Myr!" He calls out, coming up next to the man. "Are these your bees?"

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr doesn't miss the sound of someone--someone with a limp?--approaching, though he does shunt it to the back of his mind in favor of his focus on the bees. In the usual run of things, would-be visitors stay back while he's carrying out an inspection, so he's accustomed--a little to his shame--to ignoring them until he's buttoned up the hive once more. That Newt approaches--

Well, that's a little surprising, but you get used to throttling your surprise working around bees. They can sense that. (The hum of the colonies ticks up a notch as another person draws near.) "Newt!" he responds to the greeting, tone bright and warm for all it's a little distracted. "These are my bees--you've caught me at a tricky moment, I'm afraid."

Though as he's not pulled any of the frames out yet--he sets the top of the box back in place, ginger and careful of any wandering bees so as not to crush them. "Here--if you'd like to talk, we can step back a ways so they're not too bothered by us--or did you want to help with the inspection?"

The offer's spontaneous but it feels right; Newt's fond of creatures and careful with them besides, so why not? They'd both get something out of the activity.

i

[nadasharillen]

"I could use a bit of a slow down, honestly," comes Nari's reply. For all that she sounds as sunny as Myr looks, there's a tinge of weariness in it that suggests that despite the early hour she's already been up and about at work for a while. "Is this anything like the field Ambassador Amsel threw up when we were— wait, you weren't there. Give me just a second."

The noise of something— perhaps a stack of somethings, given the weight of the sound— being put down, then the soft pad of her feet on the stones. Apparently she's gone back to being barefoot.

"...Am I in it?" she asks, the query dragging slowly. So, yes.

[faithlikeaseed]

"Given you were out before I was, I'd say you deserve a rest," he retorts, still smiling. "When you were--was that the incident with Beleth?"

It's the one thing that pops to his mind that Nari and Herian were together on, where Herian might've needed to throw something like the field around; he's otherwise too preoccupied with maintaining the spell to dig back that far through his memory. "--But, likely. It's one of the better surprises in our kit."

He can't help the way his smile turns into a grin of startled delight at her voice slowing down. He's not had the occasion to use it on anything that could talk back to him, yet, and that's--if not totally novel--something he's not encountered much before. "You're in. You may notice, uh--"

Fingers flex as they drag through the Fade, catch on the worldlines, a haptic focus for the alteration he's making to the field on the fly. There's a way to alter it so time curdles around the intruding target, their own motions thickening it to solidity until they're frozen; he isn't quite solid on the details yet but he's got an idea-- "--that you're getting slower the further you go, if you'd just keep walking--"

(Though whether or not she'll be able to hear that request as anything intelligible...)

[nadasharillen]

Oh, she does, albeit higher pitched and faster, which makes her snort with laughter and wonder what she sounds like. Deep and slow?

"It's me, Myrobalan. The Maker." She pitches herself purposefully deeper still, "You've been doing excellent work."

Laughter again, and then she continues walking forward. She doesn't feel slower, precisely, or at least she isn't thinking slower. Probably? It's getting more difficult to move the farther in she steps, though.

And now for something completely different ...

[mal_adjusted]

"Uhm. Excuse me, Enchanter Shivana?"

The voice will come from a height, surprisingly enough, lower than Myr's. There's the sound of a finger twisting around hair, and the speaker, female, did knock beforehand before sticking her head around his office door.

"I'm not sure if you recognize my voice, Enchanter, but I am Mal Draco, of the Ostwick Circle?" The soft click-clack of boot-heels on stone. "I... sent you a message, some time ago, about using the crystals as beacons for our Inquisition agents? So we wouldn't have to use phylacteries."

The way she says 'phylacteries' sounds like she is tasting something disgusting.

"You never got back so I'm just seeing ... is it all right? To go forward? Or not?" Nevarran, curls around the words like a whisper.

[faithlikeaseed]

It's a rare day where he'd dismissed Cade early, being out of things that needed scribing or reading--so Myr's alone in the office with Mal arrives, but for the nug curled up asleep in the chair beside him. If it weren't for the fact he'd told people his hours long in advance he'd be gone himself--but it was convenient for people to know where to find him when he wanted to be findable, because it kept them from looking when he didn't, and so here he is.

He lifts his head at the sound of someone at the door, expression instantly one of contrition as he recognizes her voice.

"Serah Draco--Maker's breath, your note; I'd forgotten entirely about it. --Please, come in, sit down; and Myr's fine, or Serah Shivana, if you prefer; I never made Enchanter." A gesture in the rough direction of a chair opposite him; good enough.

"Forgive me; yes, it's absolutely all right to go forward on it now that we've got the Provost's permission. D'you have an idea in mind of what you'd like to try first?" She sounds young enough--and hesitant enough--that giving her the encouragement to lead a little more on the project might be a boon to her self esteem.

[mal_adjusted]

Mal pressed her lips together, but it all comes out with a sigh of tired acceptance. "It's all right, Serah Shivana. I'm ... kind of used to it."

She closed the door behind herself, and walked over to the chair. Putting herself in it, the creaks told Myr that she was sitting ramrod straight in his chair.

"Well, I had some ideas. The crystal itself is what is enchanted, right? So if we have the notes of the arcanist, we could probably start on a crystal from scratch and change the enchantments themselves. Of course, this is the sort of thing that is going to require time, and delicacy, and the right kind of runic knowledge. Plus, whether or not the arcanist is willing to give UP said notes."

ii; pre-rifter negotiations

[foxsays]

Herian was, perhaps, the only other soul outside of Thranduil the discussion might have been trusted with, and even then stepping around it. A suggestion raised privately away from most other ears that still weighs on her because-- she knows. She's said it. She can't go taking it back even as she keeps it far from Korrin because how do you tell the person you love that you're not what you thought you were, not really, not entirely?

Evening would usually find Araceli training or scaling the walls of the Gallows, but instead her hair is a damp pile atop her head from the bath, and the library beckons the way it did earlier because there's too much to do, not enough hours in the day, and she can't just take things with her the way she would in Skyhold. (Could, she more than has the skill for it but she wouldn't.) The discussion at the edge of her hearing as she worked, and not one to interrupt something she wasn't part of when she doesn't have the time for all of it but after, after with her own notes, a volume of her own that's less specific (negotiations demand brushing up on the basics too, to be ready for whatever comes) that she stops just short, hand outstretched.

"Mage Shivana?" Again there's a hesitation in Araceli's voice at not having a precise title for him, and despite a mission she wouldn't go so far as to use his given name. "If you have the time, there was a matter I would run by you, perhaps we might sit to speak of it though, it requires discretion. Nothing scandalous, no more than we've encountered already."

Lightly said, a smile he cannot see but there in the warmth of her voice as she continues, the soft worn fabric of shirt and trousers settling as her body relaxes, weight shifting from one hip to the other. Hopefully she's judged him correctly to bounce this whole idea off.

[faithlikeaseed]

Their last mission together hadn't afforded so much time that Myr could really say he knows Araceli, either, though Van's had enough good to say about her that he'd been glad to know she'd be coming along with them. (And her conduct through the whole thing had more than borne it out and impressed him besides--the things she knew weren't things one learned in Circles, and some had the cachet of the forbidden about them, which is more than enough to attract Myr's boundless curiosity. ...If, that is, he'd felt he knew her well enough to ask--but he didn't, quite yet.) That whole favorable gestalt's remained firmly in place, is enough to bring a hint of a smile instantly to his lips as she calls his name, for all it's a little melancholy and distracted with thought.

To say nothing of the idea of something more he must be discrete about, though he doesn't hesitate to answer: "Serah Bonaventure--it's good to hear your voice again. I've time, and we've got a room to sit in, if you'd like; I know no one uses it after us."

He pushes the door he's standing beside open by way of invitation; it's a heavy enough thing that they can talk without whispering and not be overheard, once it's closed.

[foxsays]

Even here where she needn't be, her footsteps are quiet, just the barest rustle of fabric as she goes with hands on the rapiers to keep them from rattling. Habits are habits after all, and thieves walk a certain way long enough that they forget how not to unless they make the effort. Manners dictate she pull out a seat for him (or she's had an office too long, it's what she'd do if they were there) then settles herself. Shakes out her hair. Clinking of jewellery at ears and throat.

"There's not a good or easy way to go about this, and after we worked together last you seem the sort to have an open mind in this. It's," she sighs, swallows and stretches her hands out atop the table uncomfortable with the whole of it still, "about spirits, the Chant of Light or parts of it, interpretations of particular verses. As they pertain to some individuals."

If she doesn't do it now she never will but there's no going back for her to say this to someone else is there? Her voice is soft, not the sotto voce mission murmur, not the confident chatter there and back, no this has the air of reluctant but necessary confession. "Magic serving man. I need to speak of that with you. I am aware how difficult a subject that must be for a mage after the negotiations as I can be, not being a mage myself but I...I have to know more. The better to know how we fit."

ii-ish

[justice_is_blond]

The information he wants to find in the library isn't here. He knows it's not, had known even when he came up here, but Anders had needed to give it a try anyway. A few scattered comments have reached his ears as he's searched, comments he'd comment on in return... if it wasn't this particular group. There's no room for him in a Chant discussion group. Whether that's a gain or a loss for him or for them he hasn't managed to figure out so he doesn't dwell on it, simply keeps searching until after most have filed out. Myr's left, though. Lingering, it seems. Maybe going over what's been said, or maybe thinking about other things.

After a few moments Anders clears his throat to make sure the elf knows he's there. Then, "There are times I've thought it was less jealousy that drew the spirits to check out the living and more curiosity. Compassion, Justice, Cole, Mercy, they've all had curiosity running through them."

[faithlikeaseed]

There were those in the group who certainly wouldn't appreciate Anders' company, but--were anyone to ask Myr, he'd surprise even himself to say the infamous mage would be welcome to sit in on the proceedings and even talk of them, if he'd follow the rules everyone else did. No one has asked him and so that little bit of tolerance might never be put to the test, but there it was nevertheless.

He raises his head from his internal rumination at the sound of someone nearby, unable to place the noise with a person until Anders speaks up. The look that flickers across his face when the other mage does is--complicated, but melts into something like a smile (albeit a sad one) after a moment. "Given wisps," he says, slowly, "that theory doesn't surprise me so much; all they want to do is look at everything here in the world of opposition. Who's Cole?"

ii. /waltzes in late with starbucks

[letoldthingsdie]

Kylo had come to the meeting on a whim, still curious about the Chant and some of the things he's learned about it so far. So, he found himself sitting in on the discussion in stony silence. He struck an imposing figure, clad from head to toe in black. He was careful to keep his ideas more close to chest as the discussion went on but by the end he found himself alone with Myr.

"I found your lecture interesting." He turns over his own words, trying to think of how best to explain his feelings. "It was the part about the Maker's creations that interested me. No matter what he did they didn't seem to work in his favor. They deviated from his wishes."

pfff three days is barely late

[faithlikeaseed]

If Myr were able to sense the glowering presence sitting in on the group, he'd certainly given no indication of being disturbed by it. (Some of the other participants had maybe a little less sangfroid; a hulking rifter in all black was unusual and anything unusual was a cause for worry to some minds, but...no one had objected, since Kylo was quiet.) He's not any more bothered now as Kylo speaks up, instead favoring the other man's rough direction with a smile that's a little abashed around the edges.

"I hope it wasn't too much of a lecture," he replies, warmly enough. "Though it's a trickier topic to discuss." And so he'd had to fill in holes in the conversation, goes unsaid.

It's tempting to reply to the rest of Kylo's comment with one of the theologian's usual lines about free will; it's easy to hear it as an implicit attack on the Maker's divinity--but something in the phrase catches Myr's attention and halts his tongue until he's given it better consideration. "That they did, and to disastrous effect in every case. Does it surprise you that it should be so?"

iv.

[extraverse]

Ignis has been directed Myr's way by a couple of different people. Usually, it came up in discussions about bringing more accessibility to Thedas and the person he was speaking with would mention the elf as someone else who might benefit from the ideas he had.

Ignis, though, has never been one to come up with solutions for problems without understanding them from all angles. You can't just burst into a community and insist you know what is best for them, so he finally is going to speak with Myr.

The whole thing is vaguely uncomfortable though. How does one start a conversation like this? 'Hello, I'm blind too! Let's talk about that!' seemed so crass. He supposed he could start with introductions.

He had to ask a couple of people to direct him to Myr but once he was there he cleared his throat and spoke gently. "Myrobalan?" he asked. He doesn't know where Myr's placement in the room is exactly so he waits for a response to be able to fill in his mental picture of this conversation.

\o/

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr, in turn, had heard a little about Ignis--both from the Inquisition grapevine and sources altogether more terrifying and unlikely--and had it tucked away in his mind that he wasn't the organization's only blind agent. It firmed his own resolve to continue working on those little conveniences he'd come up with for himself, to turn them into something that could be shared with others in similar straits. No way he could replicate his own sense of magic and thus the utility the glyphs offer in marking and navigation--but he'd ample thoughts on how they could be tuned for someone who could only hear them, and that was only his first idea...

He's at work on one of his other ideas when Ignis finds him in his usual corner of the library, a spot he'd chosen not just for its isolation--so he's not tripped over constantly--but also for the clear echoes and placement away from the sound-deadening stacks. The rock walls catch the sound of a startled breath and someone sitting up straighter in his chair (a rustle of cloth, a faint creak of wood) at Ignis' approach and question, sending the noise back out into the room. "Can I help you, serah?" comes the return question, warm as ever with a smile around the words. Beneath them, something gives a quiet ping, as of a glass struck by the flick of a nail.

i

[crowncitizen]

Curiosity killed the cat, as they like to say. Not that he thinks this is going to kill him, but it is going to do SOMETHING to him.

Prompto had just been stepping over to see what Myr was doing, but he should have known better than to think he could sneak up on him. And now he's gonna play test subject. Oh boy. "Uh, sure...?" Whatever magic this is, Saoirse doesn't practice it, so he has no idea what it might be. But nothing ventured, nothing gained? Not that he's gonna gain anything from this, but, anything to help a bud out...

So with a bit of hesitation, Prompto steps into the field. Immediately his limbs begin to drag; the whole world's slowed to a crawl, or so it feels like. "This is really weird."

I am so sorry it took me so long to get to this!! ;w;

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr grins wider to hear Prompto’s voice—it’s always a treat to have the younger man around. “‘Weird,’” he echoes, making a subtle tweak to the field with a twitch of his hands. The edge of it shimmers, ripples, seems to grow a little more solid from the inside as Prompto crosses through it. “Tell me about that. And anything else you can think of—see if you can distract me into dropping it.”

He’s still at that tricky part in learning the spell where it’s not set-and-forget—not yet instinctive as breathing (or holding one’s breath; magic did take will to keep up even unconsciously)—and a chance to practice against someone trying to break his concentration is precisely what an enchanter would prescribe.

stand straight and imagine you then // Herian

[faithlikeaseed]

It's to Myr's eternal gratitude that even with Herian's increased workload as head of Diplomacy, they're still able to fit in their lessons. Not quite so often as they had before (not quite so easy as they had been in each other's company before the Anderfels), but--the world, and the Inquisition, demand much of them and it's a knight-enchanter's lot to give all she has. Anything that gives light must endure burning.

The thought of it makes him little impatient--with himself alone--to get finished with it all and take on what burdens he can as a knight-enchanter of the Inquisition. While much of his practical and magical education had been accomplished before Hasmal's rebellion, there were gaps in his grasp of advanced spellwork; and gaps likewise in his knowledge of the virtues and duties incumbent upon a knight-enchanter of the Chantry.

"I've a question," he begins today, "about the virtue we called 'generosity' at Hasmal." There's differences in every Circle's code; they may have named it something else at the White Spire, though he's certain from all he knows of Herian that they taught it.

"It's through the Maker's creation we receive anything in this life; nothing we own is truly ours, so we're bidden to give freely of all we have--though that doesn't mean quite the same thing in a Circle as out of it." While practicality dictated a mage owned her possessions--otherwise it was damned hard to get anyone to take care of them--that ownership was always at her Circle's discretion and did not extend to property or money or any of the other worldly goods suddenly laid before them now that they're free. (For however long.) Giving away something that wasn't really yours wasn't so hard. "How do we balance that against the call to be prudent with what's entrusted to us? How do you know when you're holding something back because its loss will impair you in your duties--versus holding it back out of avarice?"

Given what an easy mark he's known for among Kirkwall's beggars, he could probably stand to learn to hold things back a little more when it comes to property. He's trying not to think too hard about that, even if it's embedded there in the question.

THIS IS SO LATE i'm so sorry

[dashing]

"I fear there is no strict guideline for us to follow," is her reply, voice soft as she considers the words, weighs them up. There is always so much to consider. "Though I would consider... when we begin to guard something jealously, then we must interrogate ourselves. Do we wish to hold on to something for how it will allow us to protect, or is there something more selfish in it? Would what we guard do more good in our hands or in the hands of another?"

She pauses, as she so often does, carefully picking over her own thoughts and weighing them up to gain a better understanding, trying to ensure she does not misspeak.

"A fine blade, for example, enhanced with runes. We might protect many with it, do much good. One who is well-trained can benefit from the craftsmanship and better utilise the enchantments than one who is a beginner with a blade, certainly. It might be better to grant them a reliable weapon that is less complex or intimidating than something enchanted, and keep that more powerful weapon for our work."

However, for that was bound to come. "And yet, is that why we might wish to keep hold of it? The key is to be mindful, I think. And perhaps if we begin to guard something too jealously, wish to keep it for ourselves rather than being ready to hand it over, then that may be an indication to caution ourselves. Self-awareness and constant care, regular re-evaluation of where we stand."

There is a faint smile that marks even her voice. "Not so helpful a reply as you hoped for, I suspect."