Rikyn looks to the Doctor’s reaction to their arrival with one of supreme wonder as to why it is he always looks like mother makes his mouth taste bad anytime they approach. Part of him is afraid that it is him who draws the disgust to the face of the tall bay but he is a smart colt and has seen this reaction in too many near momma to worry for too long that he’s the reason the stallion looks that way. He himself has experienced some of that reputation of hers which has soured many she knows towards who she is personally, even if they accept her rule and delegation, and part of him wonders how long that will last when half your populace is content to kiss your ass and the other wonders why it is you have the job instead of them.

He can’t really focus too long on d’Artagnan or the other mare though, because as usual his mother is the center of the spotlight and she swiftly takes her place on stage, the words playing between all three adults while her child watches on with a bored expression wishing he was home playing with Aithniel rather than listening to adults talk about nothing. His dam, however, listens with riveted interest to each as they speak and glistens and gleams in the sun while her son molds into the background, a wallflower poised to hear the words of the grown ups but never truly to be noticed.

”So terribly sorry,” she retorts, rolling her eyes at the so easily disgruntled Doctor with a delicate giggle chiming from her curved lips, ”I wasn’t aware you hid your name from herd mates. I apologize for telling her what she would have learned eventually anyway, you grumpy bastard.”

It takes all Rikyn has not to chuckle at the rude name she’s called the man right in front of him without a lash batted. From his observations of other mares with their children, his mother is quite… lose mouthed with her word selection around him. In ways it makes him wonder if she has any idea what she’s doing raising him and in others it makes him feel respected, equal. She lets him in on all her secrets and the truth of the world, and for that he is grateful.

He is also very glad to have such a repertoire of vicious names at his disposal, so kindly lent to him from her lips.

The boy looks to d’Artagnan’s dog as he speaks of him, golden eyes flashing curiously across the strange animal while his mother listens to both explain that one is being useful and the other is, as usual, a balloon of hot air. Her smile falters only slightly in that she was wrong, but it is no matter really once she thinks about it; she hadn’t been doing anything particularly useful, either, except perhaps teaching Rikyn more about the world in which he had been born. A nod follows each explanation, her mind trailing elsewhere as the words come to a close and the Doctor’s reach for his satchel puts a new idea within her brain.

”Have you given any thought as to a profession, Sialia?” she asks, looking over to the dark toned woman and drawing her son’s attention to her words (as he was highly curious what all life could present to him and had yet to hear a detailed explanation of the jobs he might aspire to hold aside from leadership), ”d’Art here is quite the herbalist, however sour his disposition, as are a select others in the herd. I imagine you grew whatever you just ingested yourself, hm?” A glance is given to the Doctor, her smile one that shows she respects his skills and will honor him for his capabilities no matter how hard he seems to prod at her wrath. ”There are more opportunities aside from plants, however; Torleik eagerly accepts more soldiers to train and the Weavers may have a project or two that need extra hooves.” She pauses, thinking that the mare had been off to the Threshold and surely, then, enjoyed conversing with others. It was possible she was good at it, in which case there were many places for her to submit her talents. ”There are of course the shadow walkers, our secret keepers, and those who seek to learn of the Gods and the land. We have a deep need for builders and information gatherers, if you hold any interest or skills in those areas, or healing, such as d’Artagnan…” her smile is curved, revealing an inside joke between herself and the Doctor though a sly glance in his direction, ”and there is always the soldier’s path, a proud one for any.”

Big mouth indeed.