(799) It's good to have her as an NPC in your threads, then! Kind of like playing her. Close enough, anyway. X3 Italics in this post is Ithiel; bold is Myrika. Also, I am sorry for the long post/interaction. @_@ I figured Rain and Lux probably wouldn't have tried to interfere with them, but if you need me to make any edits, let me know please! The first two paragraphs can also be skipped. ^^;
Myrika is by Sie!
Cahal carried her around the borders swiftly, moving at a better pace than Eira. While the big stallion was the faster of her horses, Eira's gait was far smoother, and therefore the ride was far more pleasant atop the blue roan. Still, Cahal was a good animal, too, and he was at least seeming a little bit less nervous these days. His hooves tapped against the ground as they rode, keeping to a quick walk. When Myrika scented Ithiel and Lystra, she thought she might join him to finish their rounds together, and guided Cahal toward them.
As the redhead picked their way through the forest, however, another scent came on -- weak and faint, carried by the breeze. Strangers, she thought to herself. She did not recognize either scent, and voices came to her as she rode closer. One seemed angry -- she recognized her cousin's deep voice. Ithiel was slow to anger for his own benefit, but his trigger where Inferni was concerned was rather sensitive.
Frowning, the tawny hybrid urged Cahal to a faster clip, and they emerged from the forest as the dust-furred hybrid was walking Lystra forward deliberately. The liver chestnut horse's ears were flat against her head, and her teeth were bared. Ithiel was still barking words at the pale wolf and the coyote youth beside him. Ah, but I know you're lying -- why would a coyote of Inferni attack another coyote? Foolishness, Ithiel snapped. You -- leave, he said, pointing at the wolf. Leave the girl with me. Maybe we can save her from wolf mind-poisoning.
Ithiel, she said, her voice more sharp and commanding than she'd even intended. The dusky coyote yanked his horse to a sudden stop, his head whipping around toward her, red eyes narrowed. What are you doing? she asked, more evenly. The tawny hybrid slid from Cahal's back easily, tapping his hindquarters and letting him roam -- he never went far, anyway. She walked toward Lys, unafraid of the big chestnut, and stroked her cheek. In her presence, the big mare seemed a different creature entirely: she leaned her head against Myri's shoulder and grunted her happiness, snuffling the Consul's scent through flared nostrils.
He says he is a trader, and he has this coyote child with him, wolf as he is. He says one of Inferni attacked the little one. Liar, the drab-furred hybrid spat this last toward the wolf. Otherwise, his voice was even, but Myri saw annoyance written beneath his calm exterior. Coyotes belong with Inferni, not wolf-kind. He tried to pull Lystra away from Myrika, glancing toward the strangers. The big chestnut mare would not obey his command -- Myri was still scratching her cheek and behind her ears, seemingly mulling over what Ithiel said.
I think you should let me handle this, the redhead finally said, after her turquoise eyes had appraised the strangers a moment. They didn't look like anything to get quite so worked up about, and she thought Ithiel might be overreacting. His frown deepened into something close to a scowl, and he straightened in the saddle. You don't command me, he said flatly. We are equals now. It hadn't been so when Ithiel had first joined Inferni, to be sure, but he was the Praetorian and she was the Consul -- both of the Triumvirate.
Myrika nodded, and smiled, a disarming kind of smile that took Ithiel aback, though his face showed nothing of his surprise. No, she agreed. I don't command you, but I think you should go, all the same. She turned her bright smile toward the strangers, giving a brief nod toward them. We wouldn't want to argue in front of them, if they are pulling some kind of trick, after all, she said, winking one eye at the strangers. She did not have to turn back toward Ithiel -- the dusky-furred coyote only snorted and pulled his horse away, the sound of hoofbeats heralding his departure.
Myrika's shoulders slumped and she breathed, only glancing toward her cousin's retreating back once the hoofbeats had diminished in sound. She looked toward the strangers, smiling more weakly, and stepped forward, holding up both hands. Though she wore a small leather skirt, slitted on either side for her legs to be able to wrap around a horse, and there was a knife strapped to that skirt, she was otherwise unarmed. Sorry. He can be harsh, she said, stopping several feet from them and letting her hands drop. I'm Myrika Tears -- you're a trader? she asked, speaking toward the wolf. And who are you? she asked the younger one, bending a bit so she wouldn't be quite so tall over the littler coyote.
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