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Myrika is by Kiri!
Though anger simmered somewhere inside her, the tawny-hued woman knew her cousin spoke the truth. She was clearly more tired than he was, though their physical exercise was comparable -- they were both scouts, and where Ithiel seemed to simply possess a muscular frame, Myrika had toned her own muscles through hard work with her horses and long months of living in Inferni, caring for the sheep, and working on her leather. Her arms in particular were well-defined, and her shoulders bulky. They drooped now, and the woman's anger turned sour in her mouth.
It's not something you just get over, she said, quietly. Her ears were pinned back against her head now, lost in the mahogany tangle of her hair. She'd tied it back for the fight, but the motion had jiggled most of it loose again. Now, her hands went to the ponytail and pulled lose the leather strap, shaking out her hair with one hand. Ithiel gazed at her with those surprisingly red eyes, and Myrika returned his gaze defiantly. You don't, she said, confidently. You don't understand anything of emotion. She offered this kindly enough, but she did not think she needed to soften the blow. It was unlikely her cousin would be offended by such a remark.
Go on, he prompted, his head cocked to the side. Will you tell me what use a soldier has for emotion, while you're at it? Though the words stung, the tone with which he spoke indicated the man hadn't intended them to be quite so acerbic. Myrika offered him a sweet sort of smile, and extended one finger to prod at his shoulder. What if your leader tells you to slaughter women and children? An emotionless soldier would do it, she said.
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