in lonesome south [j]

Myrika Tears · 08-19-2011, 01:31 AM

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Form	Info Date: 14 Aug Time: Morning Words: 436

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The salt smell was heavy on the air here, a reeking and weighty sort of scent, entirely different from the oceanic waters to the north. Here, the air smelled of bog and tide, of salt marsh and saltier air -- and Myrika found herself enjoying every breath of it. It was not unpleasant to her, though she was not used to being quite so close to the water. Eira was not fond of the ocean enough to walk in the waves, despite Myrika's prodding and pushing, and so she had contented herself with pacing slowly along the sand. The occasional high wave caught Eira by surprise, and she certainly might have bolted, if it wasn't for the donkey. He was immovable as always, and when the big mare snorted and rolled her eyes in fear, the donkey brayed his chastisement next to her, plodding indifferently through the waves.

Their dynamic was not missed by the tawny-hued woman, who watched with amusement glittering in her turquoise eyes. She was trying very hard not to think about what was ahead of her, and what she might face once there. There was a border up ahead somewhere, an invisible line she would not be permitted to cross. Headstrong as she might have thought herself, time in the real world had changed her, and she had gained a particular wariness of the world. The farm hadn't helped her any, and the coyote was occasionally fearful she would withdraw completely. She might have made that choice -- she might have gone home, back to Thornloe.

Somehow, she knew such a decision would result in her social skills completely atrophying. There were plenty of different faces back in that village, and she knew many of them well, but there was also a nearly stifling sense of sameness, too. She knew what waited for her back there, and she had chosen to face forward instead, turning her head toward the rising sun and moving for it. There was a subtle scent in the air now, and Myrika pulled the horse to a halt, the donkey grinding to a stop beside her, bumping up against the mare's side and squeezing against the tawny hybrid's leg. She gave an annoyed growl, and turned her attentions to the lands ahead, the ones beyond this border. Her ears were pricked in interest, though her face showed an expression somewhere between forced indifference and anxiety, the attempt at calm plain upon her features. There were skulls dangling from trees and planted on posts -- none within reach of the tide, but plain to see nonetheless.

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