Usually, the golden woman avoided the world that belonged to the dark Arbiter — this extended from the barn that he'd built for the equine companions of the family as well as the grazing land and herding land for the sheep. Despite the fact that she still did not appreciate the presence of the D'Angelo, she found herself breaking her usual routine in an attempt to find him — something she would heavily deny were she to run across anyone who might ask. There was no affection for the wolf, only a vague sense of appreciation for his quiet nature. He was still less than she, both by blood and intellect, yet she'd wondered more about why since starting the process of marking the man. Why was Larkspur quiet? Was he truly as simple as he seemed, or did he merely pretend very well? She didn't believe that was so, but it was always a possibility. After all, Eris had chosen him for a reason — perhaps his intelligence was more than she believed.

So in her quest to subtly seek out the uncomfortably handsome Arbiter man, she found herself heading toward the home of the horses in Borgata Tocatl. Fire eyes searched in silence, looking for a sign that he was there — instead, they settled upon her niece, who had perched herself on the handmade fence and seemed to be spending time with one of the dark, four-legged beasts that others seemed so fond of. Tlantli had never understood the appreciation for horses — they were food, not friends — but she wouldn't deny her non-sister's child the chance to appreciate the animals in the same way she'd ruined the slaves for her.

Seeing no sign of the wolf she'd been searching for, she made her way toward the fence, digging around in the satchel she carried for a gift she'd been saving for the girl. "Salvia." She leaned on the wooden construct, looking to the black equine as her voice faded on the air. Ugly thing, just like her father.

She accepted the gesture of greeting from her non-niece with a returning nuzzle, fire eyes settling on the black shape of the horse that the girl so affectionately patted. She had no love for animals, there was no need — the only one that had ever impressed her was the beautiful jungle cat of the Auxiliary — but she could appreciate the work they were capable of doing. This one was young, however, and she gave it no mind as she turned her attention fully to the growing Eternity woman. "Good afternoon." One androgynous hand ruffled her own mop of short locks, weight leaning more firmly against the fence.

"Es tu...padre aquí?" She phrased the question with careful consideration for the tone of her voice; she didn't want to appear eager to see him, that would be embarrassing to the woman who was so adamant of the man's uselessness. What excuse could she have to seek him out? The horses, of course — she disliked them, but they proved their use, and Larkspur would be the one to speak to in regards to procuring one. That was, if anyone asked. With the apparently rotten luck that had brought Xochime back into the fold, it was twice as easy for any to assume less savory things about the woman's uncharacteristic desire.

Tlantli approved of her niece's drive, and her ability to learn quickly was what kept the woman's lessons coming. Of course, she wouldn't teach her all she knew — it was best she keep some secrets for herself, but she felt assured that Salvia would be capable of filling in blank spaces with her cunning. The young woman didn't have the same hope for her brother, a quiet shadow of his father who wasn't even capable of transforming yet, or the new set of children born to her sister. It wasn't for lack of trying — she had hoped Pandemic would show the same initiative, but he had never stepped forward to ask and she wasn't the sort of woman to seek him out to teach. Her pupils had to want it. They had to ask themselves.

As she expected, Larkspur was gone, and her disappointment almost flooded forward before being swallowed by the negative emotions that usually filled the Eternian. Of course he wasn't. Why had she expected he would be? It wasn't like her to play the part of near-simpering fool, certainly not for a man who neither met the criteria to mate with nor offered a useful skill to her, and the frustration she felt was uncomfortable to her. It didn't matter. She and Larkspur disliked each other enough that it would never matter if she spoke to him again, but something had driven her to look for him. A sigh replaced whatever words she had been thinking of saying, lost as her eerie calm replaced itself within her.

"Eso es demasiado malo." She shook her head, allowing her eyes to close as she tried to find a subject to talk about with the girl. "How ess your madre? Ahre you pleased to haft new family?" Birth in Eterne had always been a thing of celebration, but she was of a younger litter than her siblings — Salvia was older, and it was quite possible that she was displeased to have the focus shifted away.

There was much to the Eternian woman that she hid from everyone, including her own family, in an attempt to save herself from their criticism. It wasn't that she was strange — she was similar to all of them, even Baphomet in some lesser extent — but that her ideals seemed skewed to her. Miqui did not trouble himself with beliefs. Miqui did not care about Eterne's inner workings. Miqui was the most wolf of the litter. Xochime was set apart from them — she had been a slave, a fact that Tlantli found disgraceful.

Innocence had been lost on the young woman, who had endured the touch of filth in the streets of Barbados to ensure passage of her family to Freetown, and she often found herself banishing it from others without provocation. It was unfair, to ruin youth for others, but had it not been taken away from her? Spite was a game Tlantli excelled in. Hurt was a medium she utilized well. Change, however, was rarely accepted. There was no need. She was content.

Salvia's sulking went unnoticed, but her words were realized with curiosity. Her siblings weren't right? One was sick? She hadn't been sick. Tlantli laughed. "They cannot ahl be the sayme, Salvia. Aye haft many siblings. Only one, only one, has been right. Besides maysalf. Ahnd Astaroth ess dead now. Metetztli ess not right, but he still lives. Do not judge on rightness. Judge them once they haft grown. See who shows your drive; they ahre the ones who will survive. Liek you. Ahnd those ones will deserve some respect." Adaptability and intelligence was important to survival. The foolish, the unchanging, they died with ease.

Children were a future Tlantli had only begun to truly think of, and the thoughts were never pleasant as she tried to come across a useful stud for an Eternian brood. There were no coyotes in Salsola, save the strange Itachi and dominating Sirius — while Itachi did not suit her tastes, she wondered quietly if she suited those of the Boss. In the end it wouldn't matter, she would either find a father there or she would leave, for the reputation of her family in Eterne was her most present drive. Metetztli deserved that much from her.

Talking about her family hit a vein of lament in the chest of the Crone, who allowed her features to relax into a mask of subtle sorrow. She missed her father-sibling, who had raised her for so long that he shadowed the place of her true father. She missed Eterne. But Salvia distracted her from this lament by turning and asking if they could train — she'd been practicing on her own, which both pleased the woman as well as left her cold. Though she was willing to train the girl, the subconscious of her non-aunt rang with beliefs of a rival. Salvia was intelligent. She learned quickly. Tlantli would need to be wary if she wished to remain as she was, the Crone and respected and comfortable, but these were things she could not admit to herself.

"Yes. We cahn praktise." The words were spoken without pride as she turned to give the young woman space. Her art of war, built over months of dealing with slimy seafaring creatures, was far from perfect but suited her smaller, coyote body well. Fire eyes wanted to see how it suited the blonde wolf instead.

She watched her niece scramble from the fence with a faint sense of pride that hid behind her eyes. Salvia was a smart girl. She knew that she would grow into a smart woman as well — how well she did that, however, depended on more than her teachings. If she gained her mother's disdain for the Gods her father possessed, it would ruin her. If she over-reached in her desires, it would leave her the same. Tlantli was proud, but concerned, for the daughter of her non-sister and the dark Arbiter she had slowly come to feel respect and fear for.

Her own posture was more relaxed than the stance of the girl she was teaching, who bent her knees and lifted her hands in a way that Tlantli herself didn't use entirely. The Crone's weight shifted toward the ground as fire eyes studied how her niece stood. "Very good. Protect what ess importahnt." The face, the stomach, the chest. Places that their kind utilized against their prey — and each other, given the chance. Her fingers flexed and curled into fists, raising to mimic those of the pupil to even the odds. She shot out orders, tips, in Spanish, showing by example before giving Salvia a chance to test things on her own, waiting with patience and alertness as she anticipated the false attack.