history is written by the victors

Myrika Tears · 02-13-2012, 07:55 AM

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Myrika is by Alaine!

It didn't surprise Myrika to see the scarred canine in her Optime form, though perhaps more familiarity might have led Myrika to surprise. Though they'd discussed Vesper's upbringing, the russet-tinged woman could not know if old custom still held the Optio. The tawny canine stooped a bit more, however, upon drawing closer and realizing the height difference between herself and Vesper. It was the greater part of a foot, but Myrika hoped to minimize it by her stoop and perhaps by sitting down rather soon. She smiled and nodded enthusiastically at the proposition of lunch. The rust-haired woman had a large appetite to match her size, though she tried not to let others in on this little secret and went as far as to deny her hunger altogether on occasion.

I like it, and an antler is a good thing to have, she said, remembering Thamur. You can make needles out of antler shards, and other tools as well -- but it'll do just as well dangling over my doorway, the woman said, still smiling. Thanks, she said, considering what she might do with the antler. I'd be glad to share some history with you, though. Her ears pricked up and her tail wagged with enthusiasm. Inferni's history was supposed to be her specialty, after all -- she might carry the rank of Praetorian, but she had worked on the book, and perhaps she'd end up as the clan's Notarii sooner or later.

I've actually started a book -- a real chronicle of all the clan's history. It's tough, though, since there were so many years before me, she said, her voice growing quieter as she spoke of her goal. The rust-tinged coyote was not a particularly proud creature, and she expected mockery for her accomplishments rather than praise. It's not done yet, though, and there's no reason I can't share what I know by word of mouth, she added quickly, having realized Vesper might not be able to read. A few canines had this disadvantage (at least, Myrika saw it as such) and Myri did not wish to make her Optio feel inadequate.

Do you want to come inside? Or I could cook that, she offered, gesturing to the door and the firepit in turn. The embers had long turned to ash, but this was nothing fresh kindling and firewood wouldn't fix. Either way, she said, ambivalent about the rabbit's flesh. Though she enjoyed cooked meat, she rarely cooked for herself, finding it too tiresome a process to engage for her own taste.

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