where fields burn westward

Myrika Tears · 01-26-2012, 12:23 PM

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Kharma had never stressed one way or another what they were -- he had spoken only of them being hybrids, and relented to tell Myrika coyote and wolf only after some pestering on her part. Beyond that, her father had been queerly silent regarding his heritage and their own, and Myrika had always found this frustrating in her youth. Now, knowing what she did about her mother's family, she merely found it strange. She wished to speak with her father again, and wished to do so badly -- all the things she could tell him! Myrika had pondered, several times over, whether it would be possible to fly a bird between here and Thornloe. Donovan the kestrel had done so, but Myri was woefully understudied in avian pursuits, and she did not know the first thing about how to train a bird to complete such a journey.

Her face fell further into misery as he spoke, and her alarm was momentary drowned by empathy for the man. Oh, she said, her voice both morose and startled. This was accentuated by the drooping of her head and shoulders, and the way she looked upon the ground. In truth, Myrika felt guilty for being a coyote around this man. No doubt her countenance reminded him of these hard memories. I'm terribly sorry, the woman said meekly. I didn't mean to make you... make you, remember, she said, supposing this was as good a word as any. It was hard to remember those sorts of things. She almost spoke of Rachias, but then held her tongue -- there was the possibility, however faint it was, her mother was still alive. This man had no such luck in his life.

His next words surprised her further, and Myrika looked at him with surprise, for the first time without trace of her alarms. Well -- I -- thank you, she said, still astonished. Had he just said that? She thought so, and nodded gravely. I'll pass along any message you want to send to Inferni, whether it's to tell us to stay away or invite us for tea, she said, meekly attempting a jest, uncertain how the man would react to such. Myrika was not a particularly comedic canine, but in such tense situations as these, she was willing to try almost anything to abate her nervousness. Her mettle was not so great that she dealt with such potentially dangerous and awkward -- yes, very awkward, at least on her end -- situations with grace and ease.

I mean it, though. I'll tell Ezekiel what you said, and if there's anything you want to tell him -- please, tell me, and I'll be on my way, she said, eager to get going. He seemed friendlier now, but she was still jittery, and her toes felt like they were a million years away, tangling down in Eira's stirrups. A faint dizziness passed over her, but she did not sway or appear woozy. Instead, she kept speaking, still too nervous to keep herself from carrying on. And -- thanks, thanks again, she said, still astonished a man who had seemed so ready to attack her had offered a compliment. These interspecies relations confused Myrika to no end, and she was eager to return to her comfort zone.

Myrika is by Alaine!

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