She tips her head to the side, regarding the cards now.

"He's your father, but maybe not only your father. Some of it is the philosophical level-- though I think your father's presence is relevant. The other man-- the hermit-- maybe a teacher? Another adult; not a relative. Someone who offered you another explanation for the things that bothered you. But they're in the background, not part of the action."

She offers a wry smile.

"Some of it's easy to guess, admittedly. Of course your father didn't want you getting involved in... whatever this is. Who would? Some of it-- I think you must have been staying with your father at the time, because most of the spread has been so patriarchal." She looks at the cards again, considering. "Your friends could have been girls; Three of Cups often is, though not exclusively. But it's not exact."

With a shrug, she turns over the next row. Eight wands against a blue sky on the left; a woman weeping beneath nine swords on the right. In the center, a joyous child rides a white horse beneath a brilliant sun.

Scully peers at this trio of cards with the sort of intensity usually reserved for unidentifiable substances at crime scenes, her brow furrowed.