[M] Serviam

Ithiel de le Poer · 07-14-2012, 07:05 AM

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Ithiel is by me!

The dark-furred hybrid grimaced visibly, a twitch downward of eyebrows and mouth. It was no severe expression, but more than he usually gave. Ithiel had not made confession since Kastra had departed some weeks ago. Inferni has no priests. I confess with silent prayer, for now. Perhaps Angel or Aemon would hear him out, but as the dusky-furred hybrid was brother to one and friendly with the other, these might be biased ears by which to make his confession. Myrika was his Aquila, but a leader was not a priest.

The dusky hybrid's head bobbed in agreement with her proclamation. The unfaithful could not be steered or shepherded into propriety, but it was a stain on the world all the same. Sometimes Ithiel even had difficulty reconciling belief with actuality: his cousin and leader was a heretic, a blasphemer, even, from their more heated debates. Yet he'd sworn an oath to follow her and serve Inferni, and to turn his back on either was to break his word. The dusky-furred Duplicarius might not have reconciled this dissonance within his person were it not for Myrika herself. He still recalled the quandary she'd proposed -- his oath or his honor. While the dust-furred coyote had yet to come up with a definitive response, he understood the meaning of the dilemma itself. It served as nothing more than a parable used to provoke his thought processes, and yet here he'd encountered a real instance of it, all the same.

The dark-furred hybrid watched with curiosity as she consulted her omens. The dark-furred hybrid himself was not so open with his faith: while he bore its symbols openly enough, prayer and penance were private acts to be made on ones lonesome. Willam, with her cross and her cilice, seemed more a mystic to him than a kin of the same belief. Still, he was not one to question: there were many books and many interpretations, and all led down the same path of righteousness, or so he thought. When the woman seemed well-satisfied, she professed belief, and the hybrid inclined his head, though he was not entirely certain as to why. It was a gesture of thanks, almost, but he wasn't certain what he was thanking her for. Perhaps it would become apparent, given time.

When she undid the contraption about her leg and held it up for his inspection, he leaned forward, red eyes appraising the device, though his gaze snapped back to her face as she swayed. Alarmed, the dusky hybrid slid out of his saddle and held out a hand in attempt to steady her. Are you alright? he asked. Let me call for my cousin. She will admit you to the clan and we will find someone to tend to you. Ithiel could procure food, too: for the moment, perhaps some of their salted stores might do.

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