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Doesn't matta to meeee. ♥ ALSO AWKWARD STUPID MYRIKA POST. First two paragraphs = skip plz
Myrika is by Raze!
Her world had changed drastically in the past few days. While it had been changing for some time, the most drastic and apparent of those changes had occurred since the attack. Myrika had not rested easy since then; on the contrary, she had gotten little sleep over the past week. Inferni felt like a safe place, but the Praetorian had come to understand -- with shocking quickness -- that this safety was ensured only by the actions of those within the clan. Ithiel was right -- what use was a Praetorian incapable of defending herself? And so, she'd trained harder, at every opportunity, hoping to amass what skill she could before the next attack -- whenever that was.
At least they had been given warning -- while Myrika had seen only the aftermath of the first attack, she understood its message. They hadn't killed Emmanuelle, when they could have -- and easily. It had been a warning and a test, as Ithiel saw. Her cousin had taken steps to prepare her, but there was no real preparing for this. As Myri loped toward the source of the alarm, she listened. Hoofbeats, cries, and other noises of distress reached her ears. She moved faster, extending her long Optime legs into an all-out run.
The mahogany-haired woman lurked on the outskirts of the fray, armed with only the thick wooden staff Ithiel had procured for her. She was not certain of the thing's origins and had been practicing only a week. Her first day of practice, too, hadn't even involved a live opponent -- Ithiel was still too bruised and battered from that initial attack to do anything but give her pointers with it. He'd said the weapon would work well for her reach, but now that the moment was here, it felt foreign and heavy in her hands. She supposed it ought to feel heavy -- it was thicker near one end, a battering end meant to pummel an opponent.
In the distance, she spied a wolf on horseback -- the horse was moving at a slow trot, and the rider slowed her further as he notched an arrow, clearly aiming for the best shot possible. Another followed closely behind him and soon overtook him, bearing down on Myrika on a plump horse. He unsheathed a sword as he rode, swinging it toward Myrika as the horse drew near. The Praetorian crouched, waited, and leapt out of the horse's path entirely, though she only narrowly avoided the swing of the sword. She yelped, forgetting the staff entirely, and took several long steps backward from the horse and rider, even as the man turned around again and bore down on her.
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