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Myrika is by me!
It was difficult to bear Cassie's gaze in a way it had not been ever before, but Myri did not look away. She had at least learned enough to bear a hard gaze, and had given one or two herself thus far -- and would have to again in the future, and worse perhaps, if she had any hope of retaining her rank. She could not and did not, however, return any of its harshness, and she hoped, none of its sadness either. Though she did not want to see her sister in such condition, the tawny-furred woman would not regret her appearance altogether. Thus she kept her gaze, and her expression reflected only softness.
I mean, she said softly, and then stopped. What did she mean? Clean away the dirt and mess, unravel time's progression, bring them all together in the cozy place they'd once called home for so brief a time? Her lower jaw worked silently with the question of what it was she meant for a moment, until she stopped suddenly. Straightening upright, she shuffled the step or two away from the desk. Kneeling slowly beside Cassie, and still moving with painful awkward slowness in attempt to avoid provoking another flinch away, she went to wrap her arms carefully around the mud-streaked torso. Though she avoided whatever visible wounds there were, she was unwitting of the many invisible ones, bruises and bumps and wounds deeper still.
She knew she could not beg for continued presence, and so did not. Instead, still clutching the dry rag in one of her hands, she sought to show contrition with contact, unmindful of the lingering grime. The tawny coyote did not seek to squeeze or constrict; her only wish was to hold. Though the touch made the sinking feeling in her stomach heavier, she wanted -- no, needed -- it all the same.
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