Myrika is by Bobbi!

The redhead leaned against the fence of the Great Village's horse corral, her eyes dreamy and far-off. She was watching the new colt leap and bound around the enclosure with his mother. Though only a few days old, he was already proving energetic and capable. It would be a long, long time before Myrika was able to ride him, but she soon planned to have him begin spending time around Cahal and other horses than his mother. Farai would be his first introduction to another equine, she thought -- the donkey was well-accustomed to other horses and would prove a good first companion.

A shove at her shoulder brought Myri out of her thoughts rather abruptly, and she peered wide-eyed toward Kaena. You haven't been listening to me at all, the old woman accused, squinting that one golden-yellow eye and sporting something akin to a grimace. It was difficult to tell, through all of the scar tissue, and Myrika frowned, shaking her head.

No, she admitted. I was thinking about Mili. Her grandmother's grimace seemed to deepen, and the old woman jabbed a finger into the flesh of Myri's upper arm, hard enough to cause the tawny coyote to recoil. She took a step back, rubbing her arm and trying her own grimace on for size. Had she prodded and poked Gabriel and Ezekiel in such a manner?

You, the old woman said, jabbing a finger into her shoulder. Need a chaos star. The redhead was not entirely opposed to the idea, but she hadn't the faintest idea where to place it, and resented her grandmother's insistence just enough to offer up some resistance. She rolled her turquoise eyes and turned back toward the horses, hiding her grin from the old woman. You are the Lykoi leader of Inferni and those who came before you had it. It's necessary, now more than ever, the old woman was saying, though she trailed off as Myri turned her face away.

Sorry, grandma, but I'm the Aquila and I'll decide if and when I want one, Myri said, keeping her voice even and flat as she could. The sharp intake of breath told of the old woman's shock, and Myrika held her composure a moment longer, delaying the punchline just enough for a bit of petty vengeance. This was far from the first time they'd covered this subject and Myrika had acquiesced to the old woman some time ago -- though she hadn't seen fit to inform Kaena that as of yet. She turned toward the old woman and smiled a jester's smile. Kaena understood after a moment, and her scowl returned, replacing the blank look that must have passed for shock.

Terrible girl, she cried, extending her finger to prod at Myri again. This time, the woman brushed the old woman's hand aside, holding onto it for a moment as she spoke.

I'll do it, she promised. You'll be the one to do it, she added, letting the old woman's hand drop. In my own time, and where I want, she clarified upon recognizing the Evocati's glee. This didn't temper Kaena's happiness much, though, and the redhead felt a little bit of dread. She didn't know just how steady the old woman's hands were anymore -- it wouldn't do to have a smudged, blurry image of the star, after all.

I will, Kaena agreed. At least her voice was solemn enough. Thank you, she obliged, sounding gruff and begrudging. Myri knew better, of course, and smiled at her grandmother as she retreated back to the schoolhouse, perhaps seeing to Halo or one of the children. Myri's gaze returned to her horses, and she called to Mili, sticking her long arm over the fence as the bay colt romped over toward her with his spindly legs.

art by crypsis

Nothing had helped to really ease the ache of rejection as much as time. Max had been snappish and cross around those he did see, and after one too many comments to his fellow halfbreed the Cajun had struck him in the head and sent him out, chased by a string of curses and a barking order that he go see his little girlfriend. Max had gone scarlet under his fur and ran off. Of course he wanted to see her, but what was he supposed to do? Run over to Salsola and call for her, or hope he ran into a friendly member of their patrol party? It was stupid, and aggravating, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

He had decided, therefore, to do nothing but pick up an extra patrol (or three) and keep himself busy. It was for this reason he made his way towards the village, four legs all moving in sync, head low and tail half-curled. There had been nothing unusual. If he had been wiser, and recognized his subconscious, he might have realized he was intentionally looking for her. Myrika was very much a stranger to him still, but Max sorely wanted to know exactly what Ezekiel had told her. Had he been mentioned? Had the former Aquila even bothered to leave him a message?

Being a stubborn, thick-headed boy, he did not realize the true intent of such a mission and was, therefore, unsure as to why he had come into the village as opposed to going around it. Pale eyes trailed to the building, where a flash of gray caught his eye. It was gone quickly and his attention turned instead to Myrika, who was standing near the fenceline. Max moved towards her, his pace quick but far from confident. Each step was noticeably marked by conflict, but he was himself yet unsure why he felt so strange coming to talk to her.

Myrika is by Kiri!

The long-legged colt shoved his nose in Myrika's hand and exhaled, warm breath against the pads of her fingers and hand. Eira meandered toward them, her ears pricked forward and her eyes sharp to appraise the interaction between Myri and her offspring. Mili was her first, Myrika knew -- she was too young to have foaled previously. The redhead murmured soothingly toward them both and scratched the blue roan's head and between her eyes. The horse, however, drew back and called to her colt, drawing him away and to the other side of the pen.

It was then that Myrika became aware of another presence in the village -- a pale white coat, ectopic amongst the browns, grays, and copper-golds of the typical Infernian pelt. The way he walked seemed strange, and Myri turned away from the fence, her face relatively calm. Both ears were pricked with concern, however, and her tail flicked upright. Max? she called. Everything alright? She did not know half of Inferni as well as she ought to have, and Max was amongst those less familiar to her. Still, it was her responsibility to heed and help them all where possible. She lifted a hand to adjust her necklace, which had shifted and began to sit awkwardly against her neck and collarbone, a seeming gesture of straightening and preparing herself for whatever the ghost-pale coyote might lay at her feet.

art by crypsis

Instinctively, he was a creature who might have looked on the gangly colt as food. Easy prey was to be favored. Society had taught him otherwise; Ezekiel had taught him otherwise, and now he himself was responsible for not one, but three animals. Was that to be his parting gift? He felt the sharp stab of rejection in his soul and wondered if the once-Aquila thought he could be so easily bought.

Myrika was not Ezekiel. She was tawny and red-haired, muted in ways that her cousin had not been. Max envied her for the bloodline and wondered, again, if that was why he had been left behind. He was not a Lykoi. He wasn’t anything of importance to these people.

A crease formed in the space between his eyes, which turned dark and stormy with doubt. His paws shifted across the ground and dug into the earth; his whole body felt tense, and it showed. “I…” he began, and felt silent. Whatever speeches he had prepared, whatever he had wanted to say, it all fell apart. Something familiar burnt in his belly and the coydog’s face scrunched up, twisted and sour. His neck bristled between the shoulders, though his tail was low, uncertain, and fearful. “Tell me what Ezekiel said,” he demanded suddenly, voice sharp and loud against the otherwise quiet surroundings. “What did he tell you before he left?”

art by crypsis

The raw sting of rejection was salt in his wounds, and Max displayed it in the only way he knew—with aggression, base and simple. He wasn’t angry at her, but she had replaced the person who had led him, and being ignorant to the ways of true hierarchy, he had not known a line was crossed. This changed presently; while Myrika was not as physical in her demand of submission, her posture shift drew her up to a height he did not think possible. She towered over him and Max, thankfully, realized he had done something wrong. His tail curled under his legs and his hind legs hunched towards the ground. All four feet shifted over the short grass, wanting to run, knowing not to run, and fiercely caught in the terrible cage of self-doubt.

Nothing—no secret message, no excuse, no nothing. Max stared at her, face all scrunched up, chest rising and falling with a rush of doubt and, deeper than that, anger. His ears fell back, then went high, but he was still crouched low, still showing that he knew what he was doing was bad, but he couldn’t stop.

“It’s not fair,” he said, his voice twisting to a higher, desperate whine. This ended as suddenly as it had begun, when the anger rushed in like a red tide. “He should have told me. Why would he do that? I thought he cared about me. Why would he leave? Why would he do this to us?” Me. He looked up at her, desperate, needy, the aggression and hatred on his face all too obvious. It wasn’t for her; he hated Ezekiel for what he had done, and he hated himself for not being good enough to be considered vital to the de le Poer’s plans.

art by crypsis

Max had killed before. He knew what it was to fight, to taste blood, to hear his heart pounding in his ears. There was something that changed in a man when he killed—he had known it the first time, and known it again when a sword had cut his side up deep enough to leave that jagged, wicked scar. Yet for his talent on the field, his abilities to act and fight, he had never wanted power. It was his place to follow and to aid others; he could never lead, for who would follow a monster?

Gradually, his posture relaxed. The fur along his neck lowered, his tail undid itself from between his legs, and he sank to his haunches. Yellow eyes traced the lines of her face, the parts where red bled through, and trailed up to her eyes. There was no challenge in them. He wanted someone to understand him, and right now, she was the only one who seemed capable of such a thing. After all, Ezekiel had chosen her. She had to be something special.

“I’m sorry,” he started, and the anger on his face drained into something less. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…I’m angry, and I don’t know what to do.”

art by crypsis

At Myrika’s mention of abandonment, the white coyote’s ears swiveled high. He hadn’t known much about the woman, but hardly guessed she might have felt rejection as he had known it. Most of his scars from those days had healed. Only the one along his side and deeper one along his head, were signs he had ever engaged in combat. There were older, hidden wounds he could not heal.

Gradually, his face formed into a thin, uncertain smile. There had been the thought of chasing after him, but like Myrika, he had expected the rejection. He couldn’t track Ezekiel if he had tried. Even with two horses and a jackal his mentor had been an expert tracker, and well-able to disappear if he so wished. Max even managed a faint wag of the tail, though his posture was still hunched and unhappy. “He taught me to fight,” Max explained, not sure how to make sense of it. “And a little bit about reading, and demons and stuff. He said my stories reminded him of some of the ones he knew.”

There was a pause. Max, unsure of how to proceed, lifted one paw and placed it against Myrika’s leg. “Did people think you were a monster too?” He asked, suddenly a child again, without any sort of pretense. He believed, certainly, he was one.

art by crypsis

There had been no real indoctrination. Ezekiel had spoken of his faith, and of his god, but never demanded Max follow anything. Once, when he had asked him about it, Ezekiel had just smiled in that peculiar way of his and said that faith had to be found, not taught. Max didn’t understand him then, and certainly didn’t now. Others had faith here—he had seen Angel wearing a cross, and heard Helotes mention a god—but his outlook on these things had been tainted by Boreas and their madness.

He followed her gaze to the horses, and one ear flicked at the names. They were far too familiar, and a low rumble grew in his chest. A shadow crossed his face. “People like that aren’t right,” he affirmed, repeating what Ezekiel had told him over and over again. His weight shifted, pressing down against her to remind himself (and perhaps her) that someone else was there. In doing so, he looked back at her, and stared hard at her ears. They hardly looked rabbit-like to him.

“I think Zeke’s ears were bigger than yours,” he said suddenly, and smiled toothily at the thought of the blonde with giant rabbit ears.