[M] the calloused east.

Myrika Tears · 11-12-2011, 05:41 AM

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A small bud of dismay grew in the rusty woman's chest as the other woman froze at the touch, neither extending nor withdrawing her hand. The gray woman seemed to be utterly caught between, her brilliant eyes shifting Myrika herself and the hand. Surely, Myri had offended her; surely, she would now be punished. This was some exotic princess Inferni had accepted to their midst, and Myrika had committed a grave sin by putting her flesh against this creature's, she was certain.

Just as she was to speak again -- some incoherent murmur of an apology, surely -- the gray woman stood, her motions quick and utterly quiet. Myrika's dismay exploded and she opened her jaw once more to babble some apology. Instead of reproach, however, the gray woman instead seemed caught in their surroundings now, peering this way and that, her petite nose twitching at the end of her red-streaked muzzle. Myrika's mind caught on that muzzle, and her brain was just about to process something when there was another touch, obliterating all cognizant thought in Myri's head.

Myrika was standing and following before she was truly aware of her own actions, padding along behind the cloud-colored woman with much more noise. Myri was too large to ever hope to emulate those silent footfalls, and even in her daze, the woman peered down at those small paws with questioning eyes, marveling at the lack of sound. Myri followed around to the far side of the house, ducking her head beneath the occasional reaching branch, brushing past the undergrowth that pressed in close.

When the woman stopped, so did Myri, her head twisting this way and that. The old house loomed beside them, thick undergrowth and forest growth drawing around them. Most of it was fiery red-orange with the colors of fall, some of it already bared for winter, but it was a protected spot, and Myrika did not think anyone would see them here. The stranger's bright blue eyes were on her again, and Myrika ceased caring about their surroundings. She reached out to touch, first brushing aside a small -- perhaps invisible, perhaps even fabricated -- piece of leaf from the woman's hair, then brushed her fingers lightly against a pale cheek.

Myrika is by Nat!

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