Private for Ángel.

Myrika had opened her eyes this morning to the overcast sky and thought snow. Now, riding Eira about their perimeter, the rust-haired woman realized her error. Not snow, but rain. Though it was miserably cold, it was not quite cold enough for the precipitation to freeze, and so they were left with this frigid rain. Eira did not seem to mind it as much as Myrika, who was tucked beneath a rather large pelt. She held it over her head with one arm, clutching it to her body with the other. She was too thin for this winter, but she dared not gain further weight -- she might become fat in addition to monstrously tall, after all.

Despite the cold and her relatively sour mood, the tawny coyote was out here circling the borders, as she so frequently did. She was the head scout -- it was her job as Caelum to do this, and she was duty-bound, regardless of the weather. Perhaps she would do a sloppier job in the rain, sure, but she did it and that was what counted, right? There was no one to fill the Praetorian rank above her, and the russet-tinged woman wondered if she would fill it someday. Only Halo outranked her in the clan now, which was stunning, to say the least.

Myrika, for one, had no idea what to do with her rank. She would have said she had only just arrived, but in truth, it had been the end of summer that she'd walked across Inferni's borders -- all of fall had one by, and winter would pass before long. Perhaps a year would fly by before she so much as noticed -- it surely seemed her first two years of life had done so. The coyote blinked and lifted the pelt from her head. The rain had ceased, though the clouds still clung to the sky obstinately. It would shower on and off through the day, she wagered.

Myrika is by Nat!

Myrika is by Kiri!

The tawny coyote did not mind rain, snow, or sunshine, and preferred none. Any weather would do for Myrika, and each had its perks. Rainshowers inspired her, and brilliantly sunny days were perfect for running and clowning about. The reddish woman thought she might spend the rest of today writing. Her log of the days spent in Inferni could use another addition of a boring, rainy day of scouting to its pages. The rusty woman smiled at that, and Eira continued forward, though a shift in the horse's weight caught Myrika's attention.

Some distance ahead, a dark figure moved, impervious to the drizzle and dampness in the air. She urged Eira forward a few steps, turning the horse so she walked parallel with the newcomer. He was surely new -- she had never seen his face or smelled his scent before. Jewelery dangled at his neck, and his brilliantly blue eyes gleamed from his espresso-hued face. Hey, she called, comfortable enough on horseback for the moment. You're new, aren't you? Such an interesting conversation starter on her part. The woman's voice lacked any sort of brogue, being rather bland -- still, there was warmth and friendliness in the tawny hybrid's greeting, and she planned to show the stranger a proper welcome to Inferni.

The word the dark man spoke in response was foreign to Myrika, and her ears flicked at its sound. A brief smile took her muzzle, and she assumed the answer was positive. When she again spoke, the tawny woman's voice was slower, and she tried to speak a bit louder, having no clear idea how good the newcomer's grasp was on her mother tongue. Thamur had spoken a strange language, and though Myrika had never taken much interest in the speech Thamur brought north with him, she thought she recognized the word this stranger spoke as part of that language.

Eira shifted beneath her, craning her neck forward toward the stranger. She gave a friendly whinny, and Myrika patted her horse on the neck, smiling toward the blue-eyed stranger. Well, it's good to meet you. I don't think we're cousins, so that's good, at least, the russet woman said, chuckling afterward. It wasn't likely they were cousins, and it was less likely the man would understand her jest, unless he'd already encountered several of the Lykoi. Myrika Tears, she said, sliding down from her saddle with practiced grace. Eira ambled off after the rusty woman gave a pat to her rear. The ground beneath her feet was wet and rather cold, but Myrika hardly noticed.

Myrika is by Nat!

(605)

The man seemed to have his own clouds hanging about them, though Myrika was rarely one to allow dour moods to dampen her own. Still, she felt herself reel back a little, thinking perhaps his coldness was due to her size. Perhaps -- he was larger than she was, but this meant little. Boys larger than she had made fun of her back in Thornloe; her comparative size seemed to mean little in the face of bullies. The only thing that seemed to matter was that she was big for a girl and she had big, stupid-floppy ears and a tiny little muzzle to go along with it. The words stung then and they stung further after years of rumination and contemplation on the russet hybrid's part.

Still, she would not entertain the thought of rudeness -- she'd stay and entertain his conversation as long as he seemed interested in having her. Or, at least, as interested as he could get. Myrika was not certain that his reserved demeanor was in response to her, specifically -- though her first instinct was to attribute it to herself, she now thought perhaps he was just generally colder. Not all in the world possessed a sunny demeanor, after all, and even she could experience moodiness and a strong desire to be left alone.

The man introduced himself with a long name that spun her head, and Myrika regarded him with calculation. Perhaps such a title was simply a joke, and he was pulling one over on her? No, she thought not. He did not seem to be the type for jokes, him with the striking and hardened eyes. Even long moments after they'd met, Myrika still found herself rather captivated by their glittering hardness, rather like gemstones set into ornate obsidian. His darkness of pelt spoke wolf, but the russet Consul had never been one to hold too harshly against wolfish bloodlines.

That's a long name, the woman commented cautiously, hoping the remark would not set him off. He didn't seem the type for explosions of anger, reserved as he'd been thus far, but Myrika was anxious already, and she would tread cautiously regardless of the subject matter. Pretty, too, she added, thinking it was. It had a certain cadence, and it rolled off of his tongue in that lovely accent. She would have liked to hear him while excited -- were he to gasconade about some particularly favored subject, she might have found herself grinning from ear to ear by the time he was through.

Eira took a step forward on her own accord, leaning her head toward the man. Myrika watched her do so with amusement; she was generally friendly enough with strangers, but she did take a liking to particular Luperci, it seemed. The blue roan had her preferences, as did they all, and it would seem Ángel was among them. She likes you, the woman said, hoping to quell her own nervousness with the words. That her horse liked Ángel was a good sign, but this did not necessarily mean he would remain pleasant to the rider for long.

Myrika was all too aware of bullies and their sudden turns to cruelty. Some in Thornloe had especially enjoyed such -- they pretended to befriend her for a few hours, and later turned viciously on her. She had been lucky, she supposed, none had taken it in their head to befriend her for a prolonged period of time. She might have shared all her secrets and dreams and fears, and then she would have had a whole world of trouble to content with.

Myrika is by Nat!

Myrika is by me!

The tawny woman didn't much mind her companion's quietness; she was friendly enough to make up for it, but it did worry her in a vague way. This vague worry would later intensify, when she was alone and reflected on her interactions with Angel. Myrika would wonder if she'd done something wrong or offended him in some way -- of course, she did not know the dark-hued man well enough to realize such was simply his usual manner, and it had nothing to do in the least with her.

The place from whence he'd come sounded strange and exotic as the words now flowing from his maw, and the tawny woman listened eagerly, a pleased smile coming to her russet-splashed muzzle at his words. Both of their parents names? She considered this and nodded to his question. Yes -- and I'd be Myrika Tears Asylum. I think -- does your mother's name or father's come first? If it's the father's, I'd be Myrika Asylum Tears, she said, adding a small chuckle. It was, perhaps, more than Angel wanted to know about her. I like it, she said, affirming for him her enjoyment of such a custom. She wouldn't begin referring to herself as such, but maybe secretly. Such things would keep her close to Kharma himself, and Cassie, who had their father's name.

Have you owned horses before? she inquired, curious. He seemed to be calm around them, albeit somewhat wary -- perhaps such an attitude was just wiseness showing through, however. It was not at all smart to meander up to strange horses and stick one's muzzle in their face -- some horses were prone to kick and bite at such behavior. Their ancestors had been frequent victims of deer and elk kicks to the head; a horse's blow would be equally devastating. Angel intriqued her, and so the tawny woman posed her questions, hoping she did not drive herself further into his bad graces, if in fact she had already done such a thing.

Myrika is by Kiri!

The coyote thought she would not mind taking her father's surname, though she did like her own well enough. There was no particular reason she might change it, and so the red-hued coyote would remain Myrika Tears. Even so, it was interesting to know of the faraway cultures of places she was unlikely to see in her lifetime. Myrika had taken months to work up the courage to visit Inferni; why should she think any other place would be different? If she traveled around the world, she'd likely spend half of her life waiting to enter this place or that, biding her time until she was prepared enough -- whatever "prepared enough" truly meant.

Ah! she exclaimed, grinning. I'd love to own more than one, but Eira's the only one I've got. I'm not really sure where you'd find horses around here -- some say it's easy to catch them in the wild, but many of those seem like small ponies and -- um, she started, realizing what she was about to say. She was too big to ride the smaller horses. Well, they're not quite fit for my size, she finished, hesitating a moment and tittering a nervous laugh when she was through. Others say you can go south and trade for good ones, but I've never been, she added, shrugging a shoulder. Maybe I'll check it out, soon, she said, glancing at him with a smile. Perhaps he'd like to accompany her, or perhaps he wanted something from the fabled place called Freetown?

Myrika is by me!

The rusty-hued woman nodded enthusiastically, smiling. Their behavior is social -- a lot like ours, she said, realizing she was likely explaining something Angel was already well-aware of. I have a book on livestock, if you can read and you'd like to borrow it, she suggested. Books were precious commodities, but Myrika knew the value of information and she was more than willing to share. He seemed open to the idea of a trip to Freetown, and Myrika grinned broadly at the suggestion he accompany her. She would like to wander the horse offerings with him, checking out the stock and material to see what he thought was good horseflesh and what was poor horseflesh.

Yeah. Ezekiel's been there a few times, he says it's not far. All we've got to do is follow the coast, anyway, she said, figuring this wouldn't be too harrowing a task. Then again, if the coast was as jagged and malformed on the far side of the bay as it was this side, they might have a little journey cut out for them. You might be able to borrow a communal horse? she suggested, thoughtfully. Merab is pregnant, but I think she can still be ridden, if we take it easy, the woman said, rolling a shoulder. She'd only have to carry you halfway, the woman added, smiling. On the return trip, Angel would ride his new horse, no doubt.