[ Breathe. The first thing he'd ever learned to do, even before the Crows, was breathe quietly. But this isn't the slow steadying, silent things he'd done as a boy- nor the meditative breaths he'd take as a Crow to center himself before the hunt, before the kill. It is slow and even, deep and grounding- less to soothe and more to make himself solid. Aware- as though he can be anything but under the Bull's steadying hand.
It barely takes any effort at all for his arms to be moved into position, he falls into place eagerly, head lolling low against his chest. The knots are familiar, the posture more so, but this- there's an energy to the air he can taste. Rather than tensing against it Zevran settles into place along with the knots, the removal of choice taking the weight from his mind. ]
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It barely takes any effort at all for his arms to be moved into position, he falls into place eagerly, head lolling low against his chest. The knots are familiar, the posture more so, but this- there's an energy to the air he can taste. Rather than tensing against it Zevran settles into place along with the knots, the removal of choice taking the weight from his mind. ]