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Myrika is by me!
D'Neville's library was a favorite place for Myrika. Many books had been damaged with the years -- eaten by bugs or simply destroyed by the elements -- but many more were still in good condition, and with the coyotes of Inferni living on the Waste, there were more new books every now and again. The red-haired woman herself had made an addition or three to this room. But still, her history of Inferni sat unfinished, waiting for the details and end-game of these new attacks, she supposed.
Myrika sat up and closed the book she was reading. She was only twenty pages in and it was not to her tastes, though the woman supposed that might have more to do with her state of mind than the book itself. Inferni had been attacked, and she had fought for them. Queerly enough, though, the Praetorian was not afraid, nor was she considering flight from Inferni. Neither would have surprised her a year ago, even six months ago. Instead, she was almost... Eager, was that the word? She supposed it would do as well as any other word. There was almost an eagerness in her for the next fight. She wanted all of it to be over.
It was more than simply wanting an end, though. She did not dream of the day when Inferni was again without foes and with its opposition; instead, she thought of the next attack, where it might come from, and how she might better defend the clan. Scratching at a bandage over her arm, the woman's eyes were on the weapon she'd acquired, a brutish hardwood staff with one end knotted and thicker than the other, made for her by Ithiel. It leaned behind her chair against the wall, ready if the next attack came this hour or the next.
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