by the light of the moon

Myrika Tears · 12-11-2011, 01:50 AM

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Form	Info Date: 7 Dec (B-dated) Time: Dusk Words: 507
Riparian Moors

I've said I wanted threads with Carrion or Vesper before in the chat... c: Whoever nabs it first, really. Don't particularly mind how many reply to this either...

Myrika is by Bobbi!

The coyote clan's territory was not a mystery to Myrika anymore, and she walked its perimeter with confidence, the route burned into her mind. She had been here since the end of summer, since the world had warmth still left in it. Now, the winter's cold bit into her thin coyote's fur and made her shiver. These days, she wore her handkerchiefs around her neck, wrapped as tightly as she could bear. The rust-hued woman was thinking about some sort of scarf. It wouldn't be too difficult to make -- the problem was finding a strip of pelt long enough. The only animal Myrika thought might be acceptable was a bear. Most others she had considered would result in a too-short scarf.

The russet-shaded woman moved quietly through the copse of thick forest stretching around the River Acheron's bend. The summer's crickets had died off en-masse, leaving behind a queer silence, one that discomforted the red-haired woman. She was not accustomed to the way the world died when winter came. She had experienced two winters before, both of which she remembered well. This would be her third. The rusty coyote winced at that realization -- where had her years gone? She had been a child, little more than a year old, when they had departed Thornloe. Two years had passed in that time, and the rusty hybrid had been in Inferni only a few months. All the time she'd wasted...

There was no regaining it, however, and even less point in dwelling over what she could not change. The coyote crept to a fallen tree, slinking over its trunk and settling rather near the roots. How simple life would be if she could dig a den here and live in her four-legged form, relinquishing the advantage of this body for the simplicity of her species' ancestral lives. A smile lifted one corner of the rusty womans mouth upward, and she shook her head slowly, as if rejecting the idea then and there. No matter how much simpler that lifestyle might seem to be, Myrika would not trade this one for the world.

She was happy, happy with the way things were going for her, and generally content in Inferni to begin with. Though she'd balked at the idea of spending her life in a place as tiny as Thornloe, the woman with fire-colored hair was prepared to spend it here, in this clan. What was the difference? The dark hybrid could not answer that question -- it was a feeling more than anything, a feeling that things here were best for her. The coyote leaned back against the tree's trunk, her hair falling to the side of her head, spilling over the side of the long-fallen tree. The stars would be out soon, and she would watch them appear one by one, perhaps whispering a quiet little wish on the first that she saw. The hardest question was what she would wish for.

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