After the Den Asaan had been in Diras for a sufficient amount of time, he had begun to notice a pattern prevalent throughout the capital. There seemed to be in inbred ability perceptible in the women of Frewyn. He witnessed it when he and his mate were often passing the Church on their patrol, watching the Reverend Mother shout after children who had leaped outside to play without anything to shield them from the blustery winter winds. He had noted its presence when he heard wives shout at their husbands through open windows and when he heard the telling calls of barmaids reminding their patrons to pay. It was everywhere, from the notices scrawled on the council board in the square by careful feminine hands to the manner in which women seemed to flock to the market just when every item had be posted at a lower price.
Such influence the giant believed could not be explained except by some magical force, to which he vehemently disapproved, and he would not seek to question this curious occurrence until he had experience the same powers at work when one evening, after a long day of training and patrolling, had slipped quietly into the larder to raid his favourite shelf. He was in the midst of choosing his delight for the evening, deliberating between the spiced milk chocolates he had saved from the Day of Hallows and the dark chocolate ginger biscuits given him by his mate, when Martje called out from the kitchen, asking the giant to leave the larder so that she may clean its floors. He had been silent upon his entry into the chilled room, he made certain of it. The giant was a proficient in anything that involved secrecy and discretion and he knew not how this opulent cook could have supposed he was rummaging about when he was the pinnacle of stealth.
He chose the biscuits and left the larder, sneering at Martje’s pompous and complacent expression as he exited the kitchen. His confusion on this ability the females of his mate’s race seemed to possess was insuperable. He was detected where otherwise he would not have been detectable, he was heard when he was otherwise silent, and the Den Asaan began to dread that his mate possessed the same innate aptitude of perceiving the imperceptible and had never said anything to mark its presence.
When the Den Asaan came to the commons and placed out his hand to open the door, the commander was already there opening the door for him. He stepped back and demanded explanation for this gift of foresight. She laughed at him and assured him that this instinct was natural, and she prepared to divulge all of its secrets if he would part with one of his biscuits as they as before the fire.
“There are those sagacious women among us who would believe that while men are the more logical of our breed, women are the more intuitive,” the commander began, biting into her prize. “Our powers of intuition allow us to know when something is amiss, when children have misbehaved and when husbands are so discreetly discarding their vegetables from their plates. This power also allows us to find the ever-elusive missing sock once the pair of them has been to the launders.”
The Den Asaan made a few grunting assertions on discerning skills of a woman and grumbled for its truth as he begrudgingly ate his biscuits.
The commander laughed and assured him this intuitive supremacy was not all the perfection it seemed. “Generally, this ability would be seen as a positive. However,” she said with a wry smirk, “when combined with emotional discord, these powers of intuition go awry. Women begin over-worrying and become overly suspicious. They fuss about situations that are completely improbable, inviting scenes of terror and misfortune.
“This describes your women better,” the giant scoffed.
“I cannot disagree with you, Iimon Ghaala. Many of Frewyn’s women, especially those of an older tenor do not show themselves in the best of lights.” The commander motioned that she had more to say but would only do so for the price of another of the Den Asaan’s biscuits. He glared at her and wanting to know more on the subject gave her two in hopes of hearing something that could further dampen feminine intuition. She received her compensation and added, “This is the power that also gives Frewyn women their nagging prowess.”
The giant waited and when there was nothing more said, he pined over the loss of his two precious biscuits. “You do not act in the manner described,” he said, favoring his woman’s cunning over the usual brand of harassing that was rampant in the kingdom.
The commander shrugged and sighed. “I am a bit of a rarity, Iimon Ghaala,” she said, raising her brows, and the giant was silent to her revelation, contemplating designs that would be the ruin of the female instinct.