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The rust-furred woman sat outside her little schoolhouse, her cerulean eyes turned toward the sheep pen. She watched the flock with a mother's pride, though there was certainly no blood shared between her and these sheep. The bunch of them appeared to be a single cloud, huddled into one corner of the pen. A tall shape stood among them, guiding the flock whenever they chose to move. If one of the ewes became separated from the bunch, he would dutifully fetch her and bring her back to safety, nevermind that little could threaten the sheep this far into Inferni's territory and within a corral. They were wild-caught, however, and they were nervous things. Myrika thought it might take a few generations for this trait to leave Inferni's sheep. Until then, however, she was glad for Farai and his herding assistance.

The donkey was quite happy with "his" sheep -- he was as good a guardian as a dog shepherd with hundreds of generations of design and good breeding behind his natural instinct. The donkey had proven far more useful than Myri had ever imagined. He kept the sheep calm, and the burro was even capable of herding the ungulates from one pen to another. The sheep followed him from one place to the next willingly, and this regularly amazed Myrika. The tawny woman had read in her farmer's textbook, however, that such practices were not rare in the least. Human farmers had used donkeys similarly before they died out -- Farai was not so special, after all.

The coyote tilted her head to the skies. Though the wind was low, the clouds moved with frightful quickness across the skies, floating over the halved face of the silver moon. Myrika could see only moving and shifting patches of sky, dotted with stars too many to count. Ezekiel and Ithiel would have her believe a floating canine-god lived up there. Myrika did not think so -- she had her books, and they provided her with hard facts and proven knowledge. The rust-colored woman trusted in these ideas, though even her books did not have answers for all the questions she might have posed.

Her muzzle still tilted to the sky, she contemplated deeply, though the thoughts quickly turned to subjects other than god and facts. The tawny-furred woman even began to doze after several long moments, listening to the occasional noise from Eira, Lystra, or Cahal. The big mare belonging to her cousin was frightfully ill-tempered, but Myrika had made small progress with the chestnut horse all the same. The hackamore Ithiel had used to guide her was near useless on a creature with such a fiery temperament, and it hung in Myrika's stables now, where it belonged. Lystra had been given a hard metal bit.

This was harsher treatment than the tawny coyote generally used, but she thought it necessary for a horse as headstrong and dominant as Lystra. Her cousin's chestnut mare needed such a contraption. Lystra was getting better, however, and the Praetorian had been working with her for only a few weeks. Ithiel would have done better for himself with an easier horse -- Myrika even had some difficulty with the sand-colored horse in the first few days of her reeducation. Myrika's half-sleep and the dreams of her horses were abruptly interrupted by a raspy and familiar voice.

Sleeping out here? Myrika looked up in surprise, her turquoise eyes finding Kaena's single eye. The rust-hued woman saw her grandmother carried a medium-sized bag, its shoulder strap slung in its proper place over her sharp shoulder. The thick cloak she wore dangled to the ground, parts of it dragging behind her.

Grandmother, Myrika said, rather dumbly. Her mind still drowsed, half-awake even while she looked upon her apparent visitor. The old woman's face split into a broad and frightening grin that might have made Myrika wince, if the Praetorian was not already so accustomed to the ash-colored coyote and her scars. Myrika could now identify a scowl from a smile, though it had taken long months of close association with Kaena to build such a repertoire with the old woman. It was still not easy to discern her emotion through all that scar tissue, at times.

Who else? The old woman rather unceremoniously settled herself beside the nearly dead embers of the rust-hued coyote's fire. I came to visit, at long last. The scarred crone looked small, surprisingly so even to Myrika, who was used to dominating others' height with her own. The Causarius swing her bag around to her front, turning her single yellow-gold eye toward Myrika. The rust-hued woman yawned broadly and stretched, extending her long lips up and down where each direction was appropriate for the limb.

I'm glad you came, but I wish you would have called for me. I could have brought Eira to ride you out here. Myrika had long since learned to suggest such things to her grandmother rather than demand them. To Kaena, there was a world of difference between what Myrika had stated and someone ordering her to take a horse. Myrika had long since given up any attempts to exert control over her grandmother -- Kaena saw through them all and gave obedience to none, not even Ezekiel. Thankfully, the old woman rarely left Inferni and never caused trouble. Worry, yes -- trouble, no. They had at least this to be thankful for, and it was perhaps the crone's more laid-back demeanor which gave her such leeway with the canines of Inferni.

I'm quite alright, the hybrid said, shrugging her thin shoulders. There was no anger in her refusal, as Myri had not insisted upon anything. It was insistence which irritated the old woman, after all. Myrika looked about to speak again when Kaena held up a hand, shaking her head. Let me, first -- I want, the hybrid stopped, faltering. Myrika peered at her grandmother queerly, content to wait for her to speak but now quite curious. It was rare the old woman showed any hesitation, and the younger of the pair was quite interested to hear what would come from the old woman's maw next. You are very alone out here, Myrika. Would you allow a roommate? she said, her voice quiet and utterly lacking in the boldness it usually possessed.

Myrika looked at her grandmother a long moment, surprised by the request and the directness with which it had been proposed. Slowly, a grin spread across her face, and the coyote leaned foward to nudge her grandmother's shoulder playfully. No -- I don't want you here, the red-haired coyote said, shaking her head in playful disgust. Has the mansion gotten on your nerves? she asked, tilting her head to one side. Too many noisy kids on your lawn? she teased, serious on the first question and jesting on the second.

Kaena grunted, grumbling half-heartedly, her own means of defusing the situation and jesting. How do you know it's me that wants to live out here with you? she said, yellowed and worn teeth showing in a fierce grin. Well, there, good. No, the mansion is as it always was -- big, empty. Helotes is always there if I need something, and I am kept well in the mansion, she said, leaving the rest unsaid. Myrika appraised the ash-colored woman with a sharp blue eye, a slow smile spreading across her face. She understood the implication, and had faced the same fears about the mansion herself -- big as it was, all of its empty rooms made it feel all the more forlorn. Myrika liked the library, but spent little time elsewhere in the mansion.

When will you come? Myrika inquired, growing more excited with the prospect of having company. She hadn't imagined Kaena would wish to move out of her comfortable room in the mansion. Myrika also knew the old woman's presence was added responsibility, though the Praetorian would gladly undertake this responsibility if it meant more time with her grandmother. Kaena's look was queer, something like a smirk passing over her rust-stained muzzle, so like Myrika's own.

Why, right now, she said, gesturing to the bag. An old woman travels lightly.

Myrika is by Alaine!