The Spirit is Willing

[Glenn]

That was not at all helpful. There was no reason to feel bad about thinking it either, for Benedict had indicated just the same. It was somehow all the worse because of the comparison between the two that the bird made. The blind leading the blind then. He sat back in his chair, even reclined in it, so that there was an arch between the bottom of his back and the seat itself. It was not a comfortable position but then this was not a comfortable situation. "I should do all of those things I wrote to her about at the start. Her people are here. There is a moment to find some sort of fortuitous arrangement for her people and mine. She's made it hard, with her grubby hands and obsessions, but not impossible. Barring that, I should go back out there and do some good, some real good. Barring that, I should just dive in and meddle about at her court, damn the consequences." Those were the obvious choices, the top three, as it was. "And then, I suppose, barring all that, I would just bridge your skill, would be a front man for your services, and we could go into a mysterious sort of business for ourselves. We'd probably have to travel back to Razasan for that though. I'm sure I could find a dozen other interesting things for us to do. Spies. Explorers. Treasure hunters."

He didn't glance up to see if any one of those possibilities particularly interested his friend. He just stared at the marred bottom of the letter thinking. "As I noted, living for the sake of living is an empty notion, but so then would be doing all of those things for the sake of doing them. I do want to make things better for the people outside these walls. I do want to work with her to whatever end she cares about most. I do want to learn and grow and challenge myself at her court." It was back to balance then. Except for it felt like a lie, like a desperate grasp, a failure waiting to happen. He had convinced neither of them.

When he looked up, it was with alacrity. Benedict had looked directly at him before and now he looked directly back, unwanted and far too late. "We're flying in circles. If I wrote to a Moirin Brennan, could you deliver the letter?"

[Niabh]

The raven regarded all Glenn's suggestions with a bird's blank indifference, making him appear wearily tolerant of Glenn's spitballing, which mainly consisted of things he was clearly not going to do, though he demonstrated a flutter of interest at the thought of treasure-hunting.

In the raven's mind, where everything bloomed as a complex network of wordless symbols and obscure directives he understood without understanding that he understood them, were a number of landmarks. His own Queen shone brightest, a nova of scarlet and gold, while the High Queen was a spiky ball of blood-red and velvet-black. A constellation of lesser but no less bright satellites depended beneath each greater one, each representing another person, another potential delivery. The raven was not a mapmaker; none of these points corresponded to any fixed physical location. He did not know where they were, but that he could find them was not even a question. The name of Moirin Brennan was a burst of bright blue and mellow white, but everyone knew where she was.

"The High Bard? What do you want with the High Bard?"

[Glenn]

But then what was the point of treasure if there was nothing one wanted to purchase with its worth? It was the same problem repeated again and again. There was a peace to be found in stoicism, in becoming detached from the world, but only when one's heart and one's mind were aligned with one's situation. Burnie could throw away every possession, eschew every ambition, but his brain would churn along still.

And churn it did now. The shift in his posture was palatable. He was no longer reclining. He was no longer leaning forward to stare at a letter as if the words might shift in his favor (not impossible given glamourie, but quite impossible given the Queen's stubbornness). His back had straightened and his rubbing at his eyes was a herald to sharper alertness. "Does the High Bard directly (note: directly) serve the High Queen, Benedict? Or is she somehow more independent than that?" A raven had to hear many a thing, people at their highest and people at their lowest, hope and ecstasy and desperation and despair. This was probably not the first time he had heard the sound of a man carefully contemplating the nature of treason.

[Niabh]

"Nah. The baird don't swear fealty to any Queen. They used to, a long time ago. But then it sort of...they got tired of being used as weapons and people got tired of them being used against them as weapons. You don't fuck with the baird; they've got too many Talents. Then there was a...I guess you'd call it an ideological split. It got to be where the Queens put the pressure on the College to change the Histories around, get rid of anything that made them look bad, and the College wasn't having it. They went to war with the High Court--I think it was mostly political, but there were some field battles--and everyone saw why you don't go to war with the baird. Then Queen Leabharcham came along--that's the current High Queen's mother--and she negotiated a peace with them. It wasn't hard; the baird really didn't want to fight, and Leabharcham was practically a bard herself, anyway. I think the deal was that the College could operate independently and didn't have to swear fealty to anyone but themselves and in exchange, they wouldn't go to war against anyone anymore."

In the furor of demonstrating his knowledge of history--it was no big deal, really; everyone knew about the Bairds' War--he somehow neglected Glenn's curious alertness until just as he was summing up. He hopped up close, squinting directly into Glenn's face, then, alarmed, scooted back as though from a fire. "Uh, Glenn? Why do you want to speak with the High Bard?"

[Glenn]

Time and perception. One generation back. Only one generation. It should mean both great efforts spurned by new wounds to keep such a peace and the looseness of newness that might cause the immediate successor to undo the failings of her predecessor. One generation could be what though? A millennium? That would tip the scales towards permanence, save of course for a presumed lack of sanity of the current queen. In the end, though, this felt stable enough not to even approach the notion of treason to a queen that he did not even serve in the first place. Burnie would skirt around situations both black and white. With grey, he tended to walk right in.

"Why?" No smile, wry or earnest or otherwise. No darkness or gloom either. Just an even steadiness in his voice, in his expression, in his manner. If he was frustrated, he did not show it, but this was matter-of-fact and undeniable. "Because this isn't working well enough to solve the problem at hand." He looked back to Benedict and after a measured beat, placed a finger down upon the letter. "And this is not working." Another measured beat and he tapped twice at his own temple. "And this is not working. We go in circles. Another option is required. She refuses to provide me any and I apparently lack the wherewithal to create any of my own."

The letter was put aside. A blank page replaced it. "She, being the High Bard, was recommended to me. Moreover, it was indicated that she may even be glad to hear from me, at least in the general sense. I need something to shake this up, even if just in my own head, and of the few options available, I choose her."

[Niabh]

“And you think that the High Bard is going to break the impasse?” The raven was still getting over the fact that Glenn even knew the High Bard’s name—which came so out-of-nowhere it felt like watching a horse walk on its back legs—and it took a moment to get beyond that to what he was actually saying. “Who even recommended her? Ainrid?”

The nearest the raven came to knowing anything about Moirin Brennan was the numerous College ravens, who tended to be aimable enough, if a little lofty. You hang around enough baird, some of it must rub off. He himself had never met her, if such dealings as the ravens had counted as meetings. He’d never even been called to the College. Glenn seemed to know enough to be confident in writing her, though the raven wondered what he planned to write.

Yet Glenn produced another sheet of paper, exactly as though he really intended to go through with it. The raven hopped over, dipped down, peered at the blank sheet, and seemed as astonished by a letter-in-potential as he would by suddenly finding himself capable of reading.

He backed out of the way, fearful of coming between Glenn and a letter. He might get scribbled on. “I just don’t see what bringing a third party into this mess is going to help, unless you just want to put the pressure on the Queen. What will you write about?”

[Glenn]

"I'm lacking my own independent interests. When she was trapped here almost alone, it was one thing." He didn't spare much concern for Benedict's feelings there. In Glenn's mind, they were in the same boat when it came to this anyway, in good company if, perhaps, sad company. "Now that Court's here, it's created yet another imbalance," for that seemed to be the theme of this particular impasse. "This will provide me something of her world, wholly neutral as you said, that I will be able to lean upon to balance the scales just a little. I'm not looking to put pressure on her. If anything, I'm looking to relieve it."

Oh, how many questions had the raven asked here? Too many. Where he heard of this bard, though? That was a good one. "It's a blur. Not the name, but other things, including when you were and weren't there. When I was in the last dream," after he drank the draught, though he didn't mention that part, "I spent time with a different bard, a male, I think. Older in appearance. I wish I could remember his name, but I can't. It's possible he didn't give me one. It's also possible it'll come to me in time. The last thing I asked him was if there was anyone I could write. He gave me her name and said that she would welcome a letter from me. It feels like it's been a while since anyone actually welcomed a letter from me, so that's as warm an invitation as I can imagine. It'd be a shame to squander it."

So what then would he write about? "Introductions at first. I'll keep it coy. Lead with my position, that I had fallen, that I have time. My research, a hinting at my interactions with her people, stressing discretion, honest and earnest curiosity and a desire to exchange ideas in an apolitical sort of way. Offer to answer questions about my people and also to provide a perspective of an outsider when it comes to hers. She is Tuatha but she is an academic as well. There's nothing that entices an academic in power more than someone offering information in the least transactional way possible."

[Niabh]

Once more the raven found himself giving Glenn leeway based on the fact that he had a plan and the raven did not. What was less clear was why Glenn had chosen this roundabout way to go about it. Still more nebulous was what he hoped to gain from it. Why go to a bard to find out about a Queen? Underneath it all was the nervous suspicion that this was just another way of going over the Queen's head, the thing she hated most.

"She's gonner be pissed if she finds out. The lady, I mean." He clicked his beak rapidly in succession, tuk-tuk-tuk, like a man clucking his tongue in the face of a decision. Protocol was something he was familiar with. "I guess that means we don't let her find out, but that don't preclude Moirin tellin' her. Can you maybe...not mention that part? Like, if you were part of her Court, you'd have to present affiliation, but you're not, technically. It's pretty shady not to mention it, but it doesn't actually come up too much since the College pretty much knows who's affiliated with who."

Mustering a little courage, he puffed up his breast. "And hey! I finally get to go to the College. To the High Bard, no less. If I were still in favor, that'd be a status boost."

Things were assuming a form he understood. He was, at the end of the day, a raven employed to deliver a message. He could find his place in that.

He nearly bowled over backwards as a thought struck him. "Oh! I did find out one thing in camp. They're trading with the town again. I think she's working with a go-between. Might've called in a favor somewhere."

[Glenn]

Given the step he was about to take, the mercies offered were small, inconsequential relatively, but they were offered nonetheless. He watched Benedict carefully, gauged every single aspect of his reaction, but he did so out of the corner of his eye, indirectly. For a while, he was silent, contemplative. "My intention is to write a hundred letters and not mention the queen once. That will be hard admittedly, will limit the practical utility for me to a degree, but I am not doing this for practical gain. As for Morin, she likely could utilize any number of spies or other methods if she wanted to learn about her. What she can get solely from me is unique to who and what I am, not my relationship with her." There was a risk, of course there was, but he seemed to think it could be controlled and minimized. Specificities of interest were on his side in this matter.

"I intend the early letters to be much like my early letters with her, more of a game of questions and discoveries than anything else. If Morin had pressing political concerns, it might be different, but I imagine she'll have nothing but time when it comes to me." He looked to the ceiling of the room then, his head leaned back, trying to hold in a chuckle. "This has nothing to do with her directly but I suppose everything to do with her indirectly. I need something more in my life. I was provided a name. I think this will be interesting to both me and the bard while not being disruptive to Finn. The intent is for it to relieve some pressure between the two of us, Benedict, not add to add more."

Which left just the last bit he noted, of her business interests. "She mentioned something of the sort in this last letter. Previously she likely wanted me to insulate me from her in such matters but if I can ensure that her people are more easily provisioned and therefore less apt to encroach and endanger, it's in everyone's interest for me to chip in."

[Niabh]

His explanation made a queer sort of sense to the raven. In his mind, the Lady Niall was both center and circumference of the world, but he begrudgingly acknowledged that there were probably some more elements to the world that did not include her. Once the idea had been introduced, the raven even mustered some enthusiasm for it. It'd be a nice change for Glenn, and for himself, since he wouldn't have to curry favor with the College. Glenn might, but as long as Glenn didn't piss off the baird...and here the raven broke in quickly, "Just try not to piss off the baird, alright? You've already pissed off one."

[Glenn]

Two letters were therefore prepared.

Finn,

We do not have some of the luxuries of our previous days. It's obvious that I need to have a more interesting inner life if I am going to be a worthwhile conversationalist and companion to you, one that is not a burden. Moreover, I can rely neither upon you nor those surrounding you to achieve this. You would be a poor queen indeed were you to put me over your people and your duties in this way. Before, when you had so little, I could be allowed to have so little in turn and we might meet one another as lost and lonely souls somewhere in the middle. While I certainly cannot rise to a position of power here once again just so that I might better be your equal, I cannot be entirely reliant upon you for my spiritual and intellectual well-being either.

I will venture outside of my current circle (truly just a line with three points) then.

I will send along some papers for Meg. They are mostly illustrative but you may need to help her with some light reading of terminology.

I will be granted no position of influence here. While there is room for opportunity in Myrken, such opportunity is not allowed to repeat itself. If I can help with your accounts, and, to go further, in supplying your people as needed peacefully, then I would at least be interacting with others. That is the first step to any renewed personal growth, after all. I would be glad to do so as a volunteer and facilitator so long as there is no compensation for the act.

In one and only one thing are we bound by an actual contract.

Glenn


That was both the easy one and the difficult one but it was written quite quickly. This second one took far more time, especially keeping Benedict's edict in mind.

Moirin Brennan,

This is a letter of introduction. I come recommended but cannot name who recommends me nor can I have him write on my behalf. I cannot reach him. You may be able to. Yet were you to do so it may be a different him altogether than he that I spoke to.

Let me provide some information to begin. Your name was given to me in a dream as someone I should write to. I asked specifically for a contact and your name was given as an answer by a Bard long gone. My memories of this dream are not as clear as they could be and I would be happy to discuss some of the events surrounding this encounter, as discretion allows, in future letters.

I am Tulthurian. I am a fallen governor of a province (deposed, though the former word better applies; specific details on the size and makeup of the region can come later ). I have been interacting with your people off and on since my fall, primarily through correspondences such as this. It was not intentional. I sent a letter and received one back and only later did the two of us realize who and what we we were dealing with. Still, it has been an overall positive experience, albeit one with its own strains and stresses as one might imagine. I do not seek favor or power or position. If I write to you it is to learn and to better myself through interaction with one with wholly difference experiences and knowledge, as far from myself and my people as I can safely manage to reach. I'm happy to discuss my people's ways in return with the hope that you would seek only knowledge and understanding as well.

I am an accidental scholar of your people but there are a great many things I do not know, especially about your formalities. In fact, I have kept myself at arm's length when it came to areas too close to my previous vocation and responsibility so as not to tempt myself. Opening a new line of conversation with you may allow me to ask about such things in a safer manner however. As noted, discretion prevents me from sharing specific discussions I've already had at this juncture, but I do hope that there is still enough interesting discourse I can offer you. Up until now I have been particularly interested in your unique manner of communication, of perceiving the world, and differences between our peoples that come from your longevity. But even hundreds of letters in, I am only beginning to truly learn what it is I do not know. I am not sure what aspects of our lives and societies might interest you but I am well-traveled among my fellows and certainly well-read. I can answer simple questions, can research difficult ones, and in the case of unknowable ones, can go upon the journey of exploration and discovery with you, through words on a page.

I hope for nothing but a free exchange of ideas, one with little asked of one another but good intention and good faith.

As such I remain,

Glenn

[Niabh]

Glenn,

As before, I have been thoughtless. Since the start, I have scolded you to go back into the world and seek out your own people again. I suppose I thought there are so very many of your own kind in the world, that even though you had estranged yourself from some, surely you could soon enough find more. I did not understand that you had already found me. I certainly never thought that you might prefer me to your own people, and assumed that in my absence, you would naturally turn to your own kind and there would be no malice to it. I was wrong about that, and wrong about myself. Though no blood to each other, still you are mine and I am yours, little as you may like it. This ill separation has but proven that.

Still, I agree that it is not good that we be so reliant upon each other, for I feel that may be part of what led us into such unhappiness. I was very lonely when you came upon me and so, I suspect, were you, in your odd way. We needed one another, but more than that, you needed things to occupy your mind and engage you, for that is your way of feeling part of the world, else you go all queer. Betimes you talk as though talk alone would set the world right, could it but be done properly and at length. It is probably not good to get all your thoughts from me alone, no more than I from you. We lack perspective. What is strange is that now, surrounded by my own folk, I do see what place you have in my life, which not even their presence can replace.

And now you are in Myrken, where once you were cast out, and I cannot but think that, too, is my doing. I wish to keep you for myself, but also to push you out into the world, much as I ever did. I wish to protect you, for Myrken is a cruel place, but my protection would not serve you, even if you would permit it. I cannot keep you, and I cannot set you free. You are now as free as you are wont to be, but not free of my regard, which I should warn you is fearsome. I do not require you to go about gaining influence again, nor, I expect, does Myrken. However, should it ever be to your advantage or mine to advance, arrangements may be made. I make the offer knowing you will refuse it, but I will have no further incidents of the Inquisitory dragging you off if it can be prevented.

One thing I have learned of Myrken is that there are many Myrkens. When you are in one, the others are quite shut out, and not even I am allowed in all of them. However, I am known in several of them in several seemings, and then, when I know them quite well, I introduce this one to that, and drop this name into that ear, or divert attention to and fro as I pass from one to another. In this way I weave paths between one Myrken and another and walk them as a spider in her web. You must allow me some mischief, my shunna, and in any case no one who ever dealt with me left feeling cheated. But since the fire, many of my paths lie in poor repair. To provide for my people, I must shore them up again.

These days I would like to weave more paths, perhaps even one between my camp and Myrken. You know as well as I how perilous that is. I think of Catch, and of how this place will one day answer for its sins against him. I think of my gentleman, gone I hope to his own people now, and what a noble heart he had, and how much of himself he sacrificed to be accepted when the only acceptance permitted was to be barely tolerated. I think of my own people and know I would never allow them to be merely tolerated. If Myrken should ever learn my name, they will know I am Queen, and we shall never bend our backs for their comfort. I think of Meg, who but this morning rose to tell me that she dreamed of a dark and glittering cloud above Myrken that fell with a rain that melted skin from bone. Your people it dissolved from the inside out, and ours from the outside in. I wonder if anything could be gained from Myrken that is worth what might be risked. And I wonder what this place has already done to me, and if it can be undone, and how much of it was you.

Fionn.

[Glenn]

Fionn,

You have provided truth and uncertainty, all (of course) seen through your own, shall we say, queenly, eyes. We would quibble on certain bits had we the luxury and someday we may again. For now, know that your first two paragraphs feel accurate to me. Accurate enough. Also know that I do not think we have the luxury for me to qualify the second for your own queerness and need. It would look retaliatory. Therefore, it is but that I raise the point and no more.

I do not think your discovery is strange at all. Neither of us was a perfect replacement for what we had lost. There were holes in our hearts, in our routines, in our comforts and necessities. We could not fill those holes for one another. We did not. Instead we were an offgrowth in a different shape, in a different direction, serving a different purpose, building, maybe off of the opportunity provided by the hole, by the needs it created, but ultimately entirely a different thing. Just as those things we had lost were, at one point, not yet present within us, neither were we. Then, over time, we became so. So even though you are reunited with your people, the new paths we forged together still remain. A hundred years from now, that may be different for you, but we are currently counting time in days not years.

If and when there is blistering rain falling from the heavens (best to take such things literal around here as a starting point), then maybe we can talk about political necessities involving me. Until then, know that I can function much in the same way as you just mentioned. Different methods, similar approaches, similar goals. Out of all of my skills, maybe the only one that ever served me in any real way here was being able to meet people where they are, to listen, and afterwards pull, push, prod. There's no utility in snobbery in Myrken Wood unless you enjoy talking to your own reflection. I can likely help along these lines, albeit through my own machinations as opposed to your mischief. They are entirely different things.

As for what you have become, some of this will come down to perception, glamourie even, what you can convince yourself. I see Growth in you as I see Change in me. You are stronger and sharper and a better Queen after knowing me. I cannot say if you are these things FOR knowing me, however.

Glenn

[Niabh]

Upon opening, the previously flattened letter took on sudden heft, and five silver coins diverted along their varied paths, followed by the more delicate clack of a woman’s tortoise shell comb. The profile of the coins showed a plump man crowned in laurel, while the reverse bore a coiling creature between a peacock and a salamander, too worn now to be confirmed as either.


Dear Glenn,

My first letter felt like a long complaint, and I abandoned it. I have no business complaining.

The business I do have is business: a man named Gerald Trigg runs a house called the Grey Goose on the west side of Myrken. These coins belong to him. He will know from whom they came and why, so you need answer no questions. It is a low place, so use caution. I also need the nearest thing to a reputable fence as may be had in Myrken. Offer the comb. The one you want will see it as it is. Of any monies received, retain one third for future expenses and the rest pass back to me. It is a very dull scheme when written in cold ink, but it should be more exciting once the wheels begin to turn. Father scolds me when I call a thing dull or exciting, but he is an unnatural beast who cares only if a venture is successful. There is such thing as style.

So much for that.

Betimes you speak as if I might cast off my queenly gaze as though it were a set of spectacles. These traits are endemic to you and I would be remiss not to take them into account. Should I have dealings that befits your abilities and that promises to occupy your mind, why not offer it to the one it best suits? From this perspective, it is difficult not to see people as tools.

However, I regard the matter not wholly through a Queen’s eyes but also as a friend. These things I did not say as Queen but by what I have seen and known of you. As your friend, I have concern for what makes you happy and what makes you feel vital, for I know these things lie at the heart of you. Not so much the happiness part, though I cannot but think that it does make you happy to be relied upon, to be considered clever and resourceful and insightful and quick to adapt. Thus far you have rejected every gift I have tried to offer. Therefore I offer you a problem to be solved, for you are a man not to be won by presents but by problems, and these I have in abundance.

Father has said that my need is that I too much wish to be liked, and that in turn I invest people with value based upon how well I like them. I confess, it is difficult to disregard it. There was a time when I was shocked and dismayed to learn that I was so hated by those whom I had never met, and that there are those that will never be won simply because they hate the Nialls regardless of who bears the title. Too many lost too much in terms of status and power in my grandmother’s day. I thought it might be a matter of addressing their grievances and correcting them, but quickly learned that there are some that one may appease until one is bankrupt, and they will take what is offered and carry on hating. To be just and fair in spite of sentiment, theirs and mine own, is the challenge.

There is also retribution, and our current campaign against the High Queen is that. I expect it would have happened on one pretense or another, but that it happened as it did, and when it did, made for a fine excuse, though cold comfort for me that it happened at all. Father would like there to be more retribution, but I see no use in it. From Mabhe ni Niall I inherited a title and her enemies. I would rather leave my own daughter only the title and less of all the rest. Father forgets that our own long campaign was born of the High Queen’s retribution against my grandmother, that self-same retribution that left him orphaned and birthed in him his own need for vengeance. What use to create another orphaned child who may grow to be another Mactíre O’Niall? I asked him this once, and he said that the only way to avoid it is to leave no orphans.

But this is that very same complaining that I wished to avoid when I threw out the first letter.

Still, it means a great deal to hear voices. They do singings at night now, all the old songs, and even some I have learned here. (At his pleasure, I would much like your raven to teach me the willow tree song so that I can teach it them.) They make me think how Catch would love to hear them. Glenn, there must be room for singing in the world. It cannot be all plotting and planning and bearing up old grudges. There can be no point to anything if there is no place for that.

Fionn

[Glenn]

Fionn,

Having encountered ''Father" even but once, he seems to take enjoyment and pleasure in exerting power, especially over those he feels personally threatened or challenged by. That might have been him putting on an act to intimidate me, glamourie and all that, but it follows what I know of him and what I experienced firsthand. That he might be something of a hypocrite when lording his moral superiority over you in the name of instruction... well, it was but one encounter.

In some ways we are likely similar. I will not deny this. In others, we seem to be quite different. Were I so cold and clinical, I do not think you'd have anything to do with me. When I find such enjoyment (I would use that instead of excitement but the latter might be a truer term) in things, I can hardly contain myself. It is perhaps disquieting when examined too closely, though maybe not enough to suggest me to an asylum or monastery. At least such appetites tend to be directed towards productive ends and not, oh, I don't know, massacre and bloodshed? It is likely a good thing we are not opposed to one another, as it seemed might be the case towards the end of the dream (that I am foolish to bring up once again). Very likely we would have both enjoyed such a rivalry far too much and woe to those around us for it. Better this, whatever it may turn out to be.

Still, a grim beginning; my apologies, but you do prefer honesty after all. I am in the process of reestablishing certain connections that will discreetly enable this endeavor. By the time of my next letter, there should be significant progress. That noted, it's best if subsequent instructions are provided not in writing but instead through Benedict. He may even enjoy it. You may even enjoy it for him.

On matters of retribution, our people's incentives are different. That is to say, for us, retribution usually means either death or dismemberment. Maybe even simple destruction. Death is final. Dismemberment is a finality of its own. Destruction make take so much time and resources to rebuild that it eats away a chunk of whatever life we have remaining. I imagine for your people, retribution is cyclical. Without some of those constraints, it could simply be part of a broader dance, something to be acknowledged and regarded, but that would not necessarily deter. My guess is that retribution simply breeds retribution which breeds even more instead of answering the initial affront and preventing it from occurring once again.

You know that I feel life is only worth having if it is lived and not just endured and survived. Sometimes I wonder if singing is part of living or simply something that helps make enduring more palatable. You'll hate that of me.

Glenn