Wheeling Gull Isle poking a voodoo doll you didn't know i made

@Reed

Ever since the mitexi the boy had been more mobile, perhaps expected to adjust to his new status among these wolves as their patient. He had gotten used to the frequent visits in his hide-away. The adventure outside had been (if you forgive the pun) eye opening. It had been difficult and strenuous for his healing body, but he had done it and returned without too much trouble; there was always someone around to monitor him and now, feeling slightly liberated, Mou thought he could take on more.

He struggled to stand, but was persistent in his efforts. Most of the caretakers did not wish him further harm so they permitted certain amounts of physical strain (even if it led to frustration for Mou); he was doing this now, in fact. Struggling. Standing. His limbs would shake and he would come back to earth in moments, hissing and squeaking like a broken toy throughout the ordeal. It was pathetic, but he wasn't about to give up.

the routine of her days remains unbroken, keeping ever watchful eyes on her now mobile patient. his appearance at the mitexi had been startling (and although a positive sign -- part of her is irritated at the danger of making such a decision without consulting the medics, mou.) she has let @Hemlock and aralez take the lead on his expanded therapies, eager to learn from their knowledgeable hands.

today, though, it is just her making her check in, planning on making a small note of the inventory of herbs within the den, see if she needs to replenish it. instead she finds mou pathetically wobbling, trying to stand, and issues a sharp sigh. "stop that," she tells him, frowning in disapproval, "or if you must, at least begin with smaller goals in mind. sitting instead of standing." the last thing she needs is for him to fall over on her watch and break his still-mending ribs open again.

Stop that, calls a familiar voice; he hears the rest but is being petulant, pretending not to. Reed is one of the few medics who doesn't treat him as a fragile piece of sea glass and he is thankful for it, but that doesn't stop him from trying his best to push his own limits. He scoffs at her suggestion and tries to stand again, again, again, and each time he falters — the final time, he sinks to his belly and is panting heartily, but does not look at her. He keeps his gaze on the ground, and his posture says, fine, you're right. He didn't like feeling so weak and it was clear by the glassy stare that takes up residence in his good eye. He needs stimulation and nobody is letting him do anything, which is immensely frustrating.

mou does not acknowledge her scolding and she titters at him, a scornful red bird pecking 'round his feet. but she does not move to stop him, only watching with an unamused stare as he continues to try, until, naturally, he finally tires himself out. she does her best not to look smug, but if a little superiority shines in her seaglass eyes, well. who can blame her?

"i told you," she tells him, moving to his side to run her nose gently across his side, feeling for the mending ribs. there is more weight on him than when they started -- nowhere near ideal, but she can feel it -- which she'll take as a boon for now, even if those bones continue to mend at a snail's pace. at length she steps back, taking a sphinx like position up in front of him, ears tipped up. "so you can't walk," reed says, "we can try something else. speech, perhaps?" her patient is still silent, the ugly gash across his throat knitting back into a mass of scar tissue. she has heard his soft squeaks and whines, and thinks of honey, perhaps -- though she doesn't have any... perhaps her and maegi could go find some. another time.

It is too much for Mou to grasp the severity of his wounds, but he knows that he has been in this shelter for many days now and that the medicine wolves do not want him out and about. He is indebted to them, but also growing restless, as evidenced by his constant struggle. If anything, his need to stand and prove himself as a healthy individual means their medicine is working, but he is impatient, he is frustrated, and he does not take Reed's words kindly. Rather, he silently sneers at her with bared fangs (a useless gesture, but one he has taken up recently and frequently to impart his annoyance). He does not have the will to harm her or any of the others, it is merely a flash, a show. Soon enough his fangs are  hidden away again and he is sulking.

Her statement is met with a soft huff from his nose; no, he cannot walk, he cannot talk, all he can do is sit and listen, or sit and eat, or sit and medicate. But she offers him something — a kindness, in her own way — with the offer of speech. This too brings a huff from him, an eye roll, and he emphatically shifts his head with the roll of his one eye to look at her with dramatic pause, as if to say, are you serious?

Mou does not feel the pain in his throat like before. The healers say it has mended. They tend to his other issues more frequently now but still he cannot make a sound, and the pointed look he gives to Reed speaks of his defeat, although a fire burns in that eye of his. Finally he does sigh and relax somewhat, even adjusts himself so he is laying properly and facing her without the pagentry, his brows raised with skepticism.

At the very least, he is willing to try.

impassively she sits and watches his expression, paws primly folded over each other. evenly she meets his drama (please, have you met her), her own eyebrow raised as if daring him to suggest something better to do. oh wait. he can't. ha, etc. at last he gives in to her superior suggestion and settles himself, earning an approving smile from his titian nurse. "good," she says, "now."

now... now how does one do speech therapy. reed rolls her shoulders and decides to wing it. "what sounds can you make?" the fearghal prompts, figuring they should start with the simplest terms, what mou is already capable of. once that database is created they can move on to expanding that database. in theory, anyway. after a moment she adds, "any sounds at all -- whines, barks, syllables, whatever. let's try it all."

His skepticism is palpable but with a look, he is tamed again. Rather than fight her on this (because Mou can see the value in speaking again) he tries his best to make the sounds as she suggests. He isn't sure where to start, but start he does.

First he manages some clicking (ch), some staccato notes using his teeth (t-t-t-t-t), and licks his lips. He feels foolish so he pauses for a few seconds, and then tries to say the last thing he heard from her: Leh t-eye et aww, but it sounds nothing like it should. He huffs, snaps his teeth at the air as if trying to catch his tongue, and looks sullenly away from her.

like him, she feels foolish for a moment, staring at him and waiting to see what sounds he can make. she doesn't let it show in her face, her expression drawn still stern and expectant -- give him and inch and he'll take a mile, she suspects. 

mou is capable already of more than she'd thought -- she lets herself look impressed, wanting to encourage him. his mangled words aren't coherent necessarily, but reed finds she gets the gist. "good," the fearghal praises, "don't look so upset, that's a good start. let's run through vowels and consonants, then." 

refusing to feel silly about it again reed says: "repeat: aa, ee, eeh, oou, ow, uu." &c &c, taking him through as many as he will follow should you wish to speed through this part jb.

He was already giving up — but Reed wasn't, and it was her urging that kept him from going fully mute for the rest of the lesson. With a few soundless sighs he finally started to give it another shot, and soon it was clear that he was quite limited.

Mou tried to go through all the sounds he could. She wanted him to enunciate vowels, so that's what he did; of the "A's" he could only whisper, catching the sound at the roof of his mouth. With the "E's" he could do more, trapping them behind his teeth effectively so that he could produce the sound of "E, as in Egg, or E as in Reed's player — or Reed."

Similar to the "A's", Mou couldn't pronounce "I's" very strongly. They were breathy sounds, working only in the case of "mill" or "kill", almost entirely glottal in its use.

He was too tired — of hearing his voice and of being watched by Reed as he spoke — so he stopped there, and only went on if Reed prompted him. It was good to have a breather even if most of his sounds were airy and useless. Of the "O's", he could say "Oh", but not "ooo," but something caught in his throat and he felt a constriction in his weak larynx, and was left sputtering and coughing for a few moments.

there is a tediousness to the exercise but reed does not let mou relent until she is satisfied with the range of his vocalizations. she follows each with a (gentle for her) "good," but otherwise remains quiet (remember, she has no idea what she's actually doing, here.) 

when at last his voice gives way to coughing she moves to their herb stores and plucks a small sampling of tansy, proferring it to him with an easy gesture. assuming he takes it (and if he doesn't she will insist) she tells him "have a drink, rest your throat. you've more sound than i thought you might. practice will bring more back." the sounds are weak and hard to make out but they are there, and if voice is anything like the rest of the body, it will become stronger with time. "in fact," she muses, "maybe you should spend time talking with the puppies, since they're learning to speak, too." she shoots him a look with a raised eyebrow, curious if he'll take to her idea.

It is a good idea, but when he first hears it Mou frowns. He does not like being compared to a child for some reason. It is true to some extent and Reed is not the first person to make that assessment, maybe the first to speak such things aloud, and Mou doesn't particularly like it. But he is grumpy from all the voice-work and his frustration is being displaced; he recognizes that, at least.

After a few moments of consideration his expression softens.

The children would need a protector, and Coelacanthe need not be present every moment. He could do that. He could watch them, and together they would learn, plus give her some rest. It sounded like a proper plan. Finally he did look to Reed and emphatically nodded as he clicked, 'Kee, in agreement.

want to fade this one? :0

she watches the expressions flicker across his face with unusual (for others' emotions) patience. she does not try to decipher them -- he has plenty of things to frown about, although she does not think the children are one of them -- and soon enough his face seems to soften as he comes around to the idea. good, it is a good idea and she would have made him go either way. 

softer than she has been she smiles at him, inclining her her toward him without touching (she reserves physical contact for the necessities, it seems). "we can go together," she offers, "once you've rested." there's no need to rush as far as she's concerned, he's done enough therapy for today -- for now, at least -- but when he's ready she will walk him to aralez's den (if he doesn't try to slip away without her, anyway).