(439) LOL GOOD BECAUSE I ONLY HAVE LIKE THIS THREAD TO REPLY TO. 8DDDD Also PP I do what I want. Or yell at me to change it, y'know. Either way. Also maybe mucked up action again, the plucking of groce from fur occurs betweenish two bits of speech...? IDK kick me. ;__; /so awkward
Myrika is by me!
She was a little girl again -- all pretense of leadership had fled her entirely. The memories of Inferni and the schoolhouse and Ezekiel and Kaena and history and family were thoroughly erased for one lovely-long moment. Though the purple-pink eyes were directed elsewhere and Cassandra had not stepped forward in greeting herself, these signs of aversion were missed or mistaken. She approached boldly, forgetful or unmindful of lost years, and even hunching more than she had in a great many months within Inferni, as she had when younger and even more uncomfortable with the space she occupied.
She reached out, and her hand hesitated with the flinch Cassie gave, but reached forward again nonetheless, to pluck a stringy piece of something out of hair that had been pale yellow once. She brushed a little bit of the grime and mud away from the upper arm that was not open and raw. Tawny hands, now flecked with bits of whatever, moved for the hair again and suddenly stopped, dropping. She recognized the futility of her gestures, for they might stand there for hours and with both hands she could not hope to clean the entirety of Cassie's pelt.
Then her sister spoke again, asking a question which brought everything snapping back into place. Neatly as it happened, Myri was suddenly aware that she was not supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to have gone to Inferni at all, much less lead it. Her shoulders squared and she was straightening upright again, though her ears had dipped low. Yes, she said, simply and without consideration of visitation, its length, or permanence of stay.
Ezekiel's gone, though, she added, after only the briefest of pauses. There was no concealing this; the absence of his scent was palpable on even the borders, though the composition of Inferni's canine scents seemed far from her sister's greatest concern. The redhead had spoken these very words several times over the past few weeks, but never before had they tasted quite so bad, nor had they sounded quite so awkward. And quickly, too, she held out her hand and then her whole arm, not knowing what else to do but offer her home. That's what it is now, right? Home? The thought, unbidden, was deeply morose; Myrika knew it was the voice of the new stone in the pit of her stomach, the hard and uncomfortable ball consisting of her once-forgotten displacement and sense of unbelonging, old anxieties, and guilt all anew.
Come with me, she said, making valiant attempts at keeping the pleading tone from her own voice.
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