repent to a bruise.
#1
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3744 words -- 37 points

Myrika Tears

The sand-colored coyote moved through the winter's fog, riding Eira as she always did when scouting. Visibility was low today, and scents were obscured by the dampness in the air. The scent of snow hung on the cold air, though perhaps by the time it arrived the day would warm completely, and their would-be snow would turn to rain. The tawny coyote didn't mind either way; her haphazardly cut pelts did their job in keeping her warm and dry. Her duty needed keeping, in any case. Even if Myrika's primary duties were now dedicated to her would-be co-rank, the coyote still considered herself a scout -- there was only so much history to cover, and only so many events of daily life were worth remembering. She doubted anyone would appreciate a detailed log of her daily accounts in Inferni, but she had started writing one, anyway. It read like a particularly dry journal; she had declined to include any of the more interesting moments of her life, such as her encounter with the pale gray woman in D'Neville. Eira snorted, slowing her walk and prancing about. Myrika squinted through the fog, seeing nothing at first. A figure, seemingly half-horse, rose slowly into view.

Ithiel de le Poer

The dark man was a scout now, in rank and in heart. He supposed only the former mattered; the latter was simply a feeling, and these were inconsequential in the end, after all. He supposed it was only natural Ezekiel would wish to rank him here. Zedekiah's eyes and Lystra's legs made him a force to be reckoned with where a scout's duties were concerned, and Ithiel himself was observant and perceptive. He also preferred to thoroughly explore his choices; acting rashly and on impulse was not something the dust-hued coyote did. Instinctive reaction had its place, certainly, and Ithiel valued these physical instincts, but where it came to interacting and decision-making, impulsivity rarely yielded expected results. Even the decision to circle Inferni's perimeter on Lystra's back was made heavily, with consideration. The fog would make for difficult sights, and Zedekiah would be nearly useless in it. Ithiel had opted to leave the vulture home, which Zede was displeased with, of course. Lystra became anxious beneath him in a flurry of movement, and he reigned her in harshly, grunting with the effort. The big horse tossed her head and shifted her weight; Ithiel thought another horse was rather nearby. He gave the chestnut mare a few steps forward, which she took eagerly, and pulled her back again as he saw the woman on horseback. Ithiel's voice was clipped, as he was engaged in keeping his horse under control. "Hello."

Myrika Tears

The tawny woman peered curiously at the newcomer. He was a stranger to her, but she thought she knew the horse. The big mare was housed away from the rest of the horses in her own stall, and when Myrika rode by on Eira's back, she screamed and kicked at the walls of her stall, shaking the whole structure. Myri thought it would fall one day. Eira was nervous in the mare's presence, and Myri decided to hop off of her, shooing the horse away with a swat on the rump. The smaller roan gladly trotted away, disappearing into the fog after a moment. The Consul thought she was still nearby, however, for she heard a faint whinny a few moments later. "Hey," she called, wary of the horse as Eira had been. With her mare gone, however, the bigger horse seemed far calmer, though her angry eyes were now fixed on Myrika, as if daring the tawny woman to move closer. Myri preferred not to, and remained where she was, going so far as to lean her weight against a winter-bare tree's trunk.

Ithiel de le Poer

"I apologize, she's ill-tempered," Ithiel offered, now sliding down from his own saddle. It did not seem proper to remain high-seated in front of a lady, much less one who apparently outranked him. He walked his mare to a nearby evergreen, tying a lead to her hackamore and then to a low-hanging branch. Lystra snorted in distate, but seemed to settle thereafter, even as Ithiel turned his back to her and padded over to the woman. "Ithiel de le Poer. I don't think we've met properly," he said, careful to keep his head lower than hers. It was easy -- she towered above him, even crouched as she was against that tree. Ithiel was not used to being physically outsized by women, but coyote as she appeared, there was wolfish size to this one. He regarded her with curiosity, though he dared not ask about her specific percentage. Such inquiries were somewhat rude in Scintilla.

Myrika Tears

Myrika nodded, and shrugged a shoulder, smiling faintly. "I could try to calm her a few notches," the woman offered. She had no idea if she was capable of such a thing or if it was even possible -- Ithiel's mount seemed positively surly of temper, and sometimes, there was just no fixing that. It was certainly worth a try, however, and the tawny woman thought such exercises were an educational experience, no matter how trying the animal in question might be. "Myrika Tears," she added. "Are you a cousin of Ezekiel's?" she asked, knowing such cousinhood would make this man her cousin, as well.

Ithiel de le Poer

Ithiel considered her offer, weighing it heavily as he did with all things. While he sorely wished to break Lystra of at least some of her bad behaviors, he was not sure a woman -- even one so physically impressive as this one -- was capable of such. Kastra had tried a few times, having her own horsemanship, and Lystra had worsened, if anything. He debated, and decided, after a long moment of silence, to nod. "I would appreciate such," he said, simply, and would say no more on the subject. He would not hold her to it, nor would he seek to make arrangements here and now. If she would engage his horse, she would do so in her own time, and without his beckoning and pleading. "I am no cousin of Ezekiel's, though. His half-brother."

Myrika Tears

He did not immediately answer either of her inquiries, and Myrika's cerulean eyes darkened with concern. Had she offended him in some way? She did not think so -- the tawny woman said nothing offensive, at least nothing she could possibly perceive as offensive. Perhaps he was preparing to mock her, or make some comment of her height -- same difference. Her tawny ears flicked, though she forced them to remain upright, as her rank demanded, and simply watched him with what she hoped was baleful indifference. He finally nodded, and answered first her query regarding his horse. His response time and the response itself was odd, but Myrika was more interested in his next statement to bother with comment. "Half-brother, really?" she mused, posing the question with a murmur so he would understand it was rhetorical. "I guess that makes us cousins," she said, curious for his reaction. He had Gabriel's surname -- she wasn't surprised so much as intrigued. "Are you tired of new cousins yet, Ithiel?" The question was asked with a grin, a few flicks of her tail signifying her amusement with the question.

Ithiel de le Poer

The woman seemed to take him in the same way he was doing to her, making no immediate moves to befriend him. She seemed casual enough, but a flicker of her ears might have signified annoyance or anxiousness -- Ithiel was not certain, though he quietly filed it away somewhere in his mind. Myrika murmured a question in response to his answer, and Ithiel gave half a nod, thinking he was not supposed to answer this question verbally -- then, she informed him they were cousins. Ithiel absorbed this blow as he tended to with all things, quietly and without complaint. Though he understood her next inquiry as a joke, he decided to answer it as if it had not been. "Yes," he said, simply. "There are many who share my blood here. I don't know if I can trust these kin. I mean you no offense," the man added, though he was sure she would take offense -- women could be emotional at times, and he may have struck a soft spot with such a statement.

Myrika Tears

Myrika took his answer with a look of surprise, a brow lifting. She had not expected such honesty, but she supposed she could appreciate it. She now took a cue from the dusky man, and composed her answer a moment, thinking he would not mind. He had done so himself, after all. "I don't take any offense. I felt the same when I came here, and I feel the same still with some strangers sharing my blood." The tawny woman intended the statement exactly as she had said it, and she meant to insinuate Ithiel was among those she did not yet trust. He would have to prove himself as all the others -- Myrika would not blindly accept family and overlook their flaws. They were distant cousins and little more, after all.

Ithiel de le Poer

The man considered his companion carefully, crimson eyes meandering over to her every now and again. She was quiet a moment, and Ithiel at first took this for a bad sign -- she had taken offense to his words, and he should not have been so bluntly honest. He did not show signs of agitation, but the itch to leave crawled up his back. He did not like being berated by women, though he supposed in this instance, he should have to endure it, having provoked a higher rank. He remained, and was taken by surprise with her answer. Its deeper meaning did not pass him, and the dusky man found such a statement in turn deserving of his respect. He nodded, and a rare, fleeting smile came to his face then. "I take your meaning. You have nothing to fear of me. I was raised in Scintilla. This place reveres my father, Gabriel -- my mother, especially, revered him for his work in the west. I would not disrespect his son, my half-brother, by stepping out of rank or harming another of Inferni," he explained. "In my home, they teach respect and loyalty. My oath is now to Inferni." It was a lot of words for Ithiel, but he felt they needed to be said. If the tawny woman Myrika was true to her words, his speech would mean little enough, but the words were not for her. Ithiel needed to verbally affirm his loyalty to the clan, and he had for some time. Here was his witness, unsuspecting as she was.

Myrika Tears

The rust-hued woman was surprised by the lengthiness with which he replied, though she listened intently. Scintilla was a place she might have recalled faintly -- it had something to do with Gabriel, which she had known even before Ithiel spoke of such. She was not certain where such knowledge had been gleaned -- perhaps Kaena, perhaps Ezekiel himself. Myri was not sure and it was not all that important. The Consul trusted his word, and decided it was worth its face value. There was a queer calm about this man, true enough, but that she took his word on this idea did not mean she trusted him wholly. In any case, she thought herself a rather inappropriate venue for such words. "Why speak such to me? Say it to Ezekiel," the woman said, a faint hint of weariness in her voice. "I am the historian," she added, rolling her shoulders and peering at him with bright green-blue eyes.

Ithiel de le Poer

Ithiel was not surprised with her response, and he offered a shrug after his customary pause, considering her with his sharp crimson gaze. He folded his arms over his chest, and turned his head to the west, in the direction of his true homeland. Inferni was not the best substitute, but it would have to do for now, and for the indefinite future. His commander sought to make them stay here some time, and he was bound to her word. "You are high-ranked enough to bear my witness. You carry yourself as such, in any case, though you seem uncomfortable with your stature." He did not mean her height, though she seemed uncomfortable enough with that -- she still crouched against the tree, after all, and seemed to seek to make herself shorter, though she towered over Ithiel regardless of her stoop.

Myrika Tears

He spoke with boldness, and the woman found a spark of anger rising in her, though she did her best to quell it. Still, she did not think she kept all of the venom out of her voice. "Fine, then. I am your witness." She did not want this responsibility, but it seemed the dusky man would foist it onto her anyway. The tawny woman's tail flickered back and forth a few times in faint annoyance, and she regarded him with bright cerulean eyes. "Why do you need a witness?" She decided it was best to bypass his accusation of discomfort in her rank -- or was it her height, after all? -- and skip to whatever other subject he would talk about.

Ithiel de le Poer

Ithiel saw the annoyance in her clearly, though he himself remained calm. He was slow to anger in general, and verbal insults all but rolled from his back. The dusky man decided it would be best to thank her for agreeing, though it didn't truly matter if she did or not. "Thank you," he said, and answered her question honestly. "I needed to speak an oath. Now that someone has heard me speak it, I cannot renege." There were no actions his tawny superior needed to take in order to keep Ithiel loyal to his word; the dusky man accomplished such of his own volition.

Myrika Tears

Myrika looked at him queerly, her anger fading as her interest was piqued. "Canines go back on their word all the time," she said, her body now inclined forward from the tree and just toward Ithiel. There was more animation about her with an interesting topic seized between her teeth. "What makes you different from all the rest?" She wondered if he would give an honest answer this time. That his homeland educated him in loyalty and keeping one's oaths did not necessarily mean Ithiel, this individual, kept to his word. There were exceptions to every rule; while she liked most of the Lykoi that she encountered thus far very well, the tawny coyote did not think she would universally like the Lykoi family, blood or no blood. Perhaps Ithiel was an example to the contrary; he hadn't quite endeared himself to her just yet.

Ithiel de le Poer

Ithiel did dare level his crimson gaze with her bright blue eyes, though he dropped them after a moment, not wishing to threaten her with prolonged stares. "Wolves go back on their word," he corrected, albeit gently. This was Ithiel's version of a joke -- the dusky male did so enjoy making light of wolves any way he could. "I do not make promises I don't intend to keep," he added, thinking there was more to the answer, but that he could not explain this to Myrika even if he wanted to. Loyalty was an innate quality, and he did not know how to speak it to the tawny woman if she herself did not already comprehend it.

Myrika Tears

He looked at her a moment, and Myri returned his gaze evenly, though he broke the look off before it could become anything resembling a threat. She cocked her head at the assertion, and pondered its meaning a moment before she responded. She chose her words carefully, and prepared herself to face an onslaught of teasing. That he hadn't followed up with his poke at her rank/height was miraculous to the tawny woman. "Lykoi blood is partially wolf," she reminded him, choosing the far more generalized way of speaking. Directing her assertion at Ithiel might be dangerous business, after all. "From what I hear, Gabriel was a lot wolf, even," she ventured, thinking this was even more dangerous business. Still, she could not help but give this bee's nest a poke -- it seemed to her there was a flaw in Ithiel's thinking.

Ithiel de le Poer

The dusky man's dour grimace darkened when she spoke, though there was no hint of anger in him. Ithiel did not take issue with words. They could not cause him any harm, though it was not pleasant to be reminded of his own heritage. Ithiel looked very much the part of a coyote, as did this Myrika -- though there was most certainly wolf in their blood, Ithiel thought a few more generations might filter it completely out of them. "Yes, as I well know. I have renounced the wolf in me -- I would advise the same for you, Myrika," the man said, his tone grave.

Myrika Tears

The reddish woman looked upon her companion with astonishment, now straightening up completely from the tree and crossing her own arms across her chest. Her head drew back, however, and her eyes narrowed, doubtfulness in her tone. "You can't just 'renounce' what's in the blood," the woman said, for the first time thinking perhaps Ithiel was slow in the head. He surely was odd, there was that, but until this moment, she could have believed he was normal, just raised very, very differently.

Ithiel de le Poer

The dusky man's face did not frequently change; it maintained the surly look he'd been born with for the most part, rarely expressing his emotion. Stoic Ithiel did not show his heart openly, and though now he was filled with joy at being granted this chance to enlighten this woman, his cousin. He did not believe in proselytizing, but belief was central to this conversation. "No," he agreed, shaking his head. "You can't change what's in the blood, but the soul? Most certainly," he said. "Prayer can cleanse the sin of wolf out of you."

Myrika Tears

Myrika's upbringing hadn't possessed a whole lot of spirituality. Thornloe was not particularly religious; a few characters prayed and a few more kept small altars, but Myri could not recall her father engaging in such practices, and she herself was entirely uninterested in them. Now, faced with an apparent zealot, the hybrid was faintly perplexed, but primarily interested. His perspective and worldview must be wildly different from her own. "And if we have no souls?" the woman asked, curious as to his response. Perhaps again she treaded upon dangerous ground, but thus far, the dusky coyote had seemed non-reactive; at this point, Myri did not fear angering him.

Ithiel de le Poer

Ithiel was not used to such conversations. Most in Scintilla believed, and those that did not were kindly enough to keep their non-belief to himself. A deepening frown appeared on his muzzle and stayed put, though the delay before this response was lesser than before. "We have souls. It is heresy for you to say otherwise," the man said. He did not need to convince her; it was not his aim to convert her or save her soul. Only she was capable of such things, in the end. The dusky coyote shifted his weight, scratching absently at the leather of his gauntlet. He worn it today out of habit, though Zedekiah remained home.

Myrika Tears

Myrika's look became one of stark astonishment, and she peered at him with sharp cerulean eyes. Faint anger returned to her, though she did not particularly understand why. These were silly comments, after all, and she ought to turn and pay him no heed if the conversation heated her blood. She could not resist such discourse, however, and the tawny woman now smiled coyly. "Are you to save my soul, then, and stop me from spouting such heresy?" She much preferred discussing these subjects with Ezekiel; it would seem his younger half-brother was more fervent in his belief, anyway -- at least, this was Myrika's experience.

Ithiel de le Poer

Ithiel shook his head immediately, and responded just as quickly. "No. If your soul is to be saved before you die, it is already fated, and you are the salvation of your own soul, if so. I can do nothing to change destiny." These were practiced lines and core beliefs: fate, salvation. It was clear to him now Myrika engaged in sin, but that did not matter much. He would not balk at her presence or shun her company; sin was not a contagion. Ithiel did not mind answering questions, and he thought Myrika was enjoying the conversation, at least in part. She seemed animated by the discussion, and Ithiel would oblige her his perspective if she so desired, as always.

Myrika Tears

The rust-hued woman considered the response he gave her for a moment, her cerulean eyes growing distant; she appeared to look past Ithiel and into the fog, now dissipating with the oncoming day. The view of the sky had become clearer, but the skies themselves remained overcast and threatening of rain. She supposed it didn't matter, but she would have liked to finish this conversation without an interruption of rain. Myri considered the man with blue-green eyes. "Would you accompany me around Inferni, and then to the mansion?" she asked, suddenly. "I want to continue this conversation, but the borders need attending, and it looks like rain later." She thought the idea of destiny and fate was trash, something to be found in fairy tales; to find a believer in such a concept, and one so open as Ithiel, was fascinating. "Will your horse tolerate mine?" she added, pondering the question.

Ithiel de le Poer

Ithiel was surprised by her inquiries, and a faint part of him wondered if this was a sexual approach. They were cousins, but some of his cousins were godless heathens, doubtless engaging in incest and all other manner of befoulment -- Myrika, too, perhaps. They had not covered the subject of God, but he thought it likely to come up. The dusky coyote nodded his angular coyote head. "Yes." It was his duty as scout, anyway, and it might be nice to have company, even a woman's company. "I believe so -- if your horse does not provoke her."

OOC Ending

They do what Myrika says; the conversation ranges from Ithiel's beliefs to wolves and Ithiel's dislike of them, to Myrika explaining some of Inferni's history to Ithiel.

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